


Incredible Places

by smokeandmirrorscloakanddagger



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mild Language, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-09-22 04:59:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 74,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9584603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokeandmirrorscloakanddagger/pseuds/smokeandmirrorscloakanddagger
Summary: Bucky meets a girl in Romania that's got a lot to do, a lot to say, and even more secrets. All he wants to do is lead a quiet life but with a neighbor like Ana nothing is ever that simple.





	1. Apartment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reread this a few nights ago and I'm so mad at myself for deleting it earlier this year. I love this story. I think it might be my favorite that I've written. So, I'm going to be re-posting the chapters, two a week, until its caught up to where it was. In the meantime I'm going to working on new chapters.

There is a man standing outside her door. She glances through the peephole again before shrugging and deciding to open the door, but damn if she doesn’t regret the choice as soon as the door is fully open. He’s tall and intimidating but she’s never been one for being fearful and so she leans against the door and continues to lick her Popsicle. She raises one eyebrow.

“Can I help you?” She asks.

He looks pained as he holds up her ad and says, “Apartment.”

“Well now,  _you_  are the most interesting apartment seeker I’ve encountered all week,” she says as she crosses her ankles, her feet covered in fluffy purple socks. He looks confused by her statement and it occurs to her that he might be transient and may not speak the language. “Romanian?”

He winces and shakes his head and in broken Romanian says, “Not well.”

“Romani?” She asks. He looks confused, so no. “Russian?” He seems to understand but looks extremely uncomfortable and so she rolls her eyes and asks, “Ukrainian?” It’s a long shot. Another shake. “Jesus Christ man you come looking for an apartment and you didn’t think there’d be some form of negotiations?” She says in Romanian to an anxious, puzzled look. “English?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, the ghost of a smile, “Yes.” It’s clear if a little accented.

“Great!” She says and then, “The apartment isn’t for rent.” She slams the door in his face. The hall echoes with a definitive and final silence.

Bucky stands, staring dumbstruck, at the door. The full and cottony quiet nearly sends him into a panic. He knocks again. She opens the door, Popsicle still in her hand which he can’t figure out how she can stand to be eating. It’s cold and the building less than well maintained, meaning the heating isn’t exactly working well. “Can I help you?” She asks again this time in English.

“I’d like to rent your apartment,” he tries to say confidently, but confidence is not something he musters well anymore and so it doesn’t come out exactly as he wants it to.

She looks him over. His ratty clothes, his backpack, matted hair and scraggly beard. “No offense but you don’t exactly look like a reliable renter if you catch my drift and I need that money. A nice college girl was here earlier and she wouldn’t even have to pay me under the table so…got a convincing argument…?”

He realizes a little belatedly that she wants his name. “John,” Bucky says lamely.

“ _John_? You couldn’t have thought of a better fake name? You are _really_ underprepared for Eastern Europe.” She taps her chin with her free hand, pretending to think. “Well,  _John_ , do you have an argument?”

Bucky stares before swallowing thickly to attempt an argument, “I…really need a place to live. I’m down on my luck.” What a gross fucking understatement, Bucky thinks. When you’ve had 70 years of bad luck it’s no longer bad luck but a cosmic force working against you. But he’s resilient if nothing else and this slightly off-kilter person isn’t going to deter him from trying. And besides, pretty much everyone else in Bucharest has turned him down or refused to speak to him entirely. She’s quite literally his last hope, his last chance. He doesn’t want to have to leave Bucharest and find somewhere else to live. Bucharest is it, something in his gut tells him it has to be here.

“Shit, I can tell but c’mon. Hobo or nice college girl? You do the math. Nothing personal I just need the money,” she says but doesn’t close the door, as though she wants to be convinced and Bucky knows he has her hooked, somehow, someway he’s caught her attention. She’s interested in him, curious. And that is either very bad or very good. If he can prove he can pay…

“I have the money. I can pay upfront for the first month. But its American dollars.”

She perks up and asks, “Traceable?” Fuck no, he had made sure of that.

“No.”

“Then that’ll work, strange hobo man.” Now Bucky is intrigued. She smiles and tilts her head to the side. “So, first month and then what?”

Bucky doesn’t want to admit he has a shit ton of cash in his backpack or that he's here to recover memories and eke out a quiet living (because he's not telling fucking anyone about that and only speaks to this girl now because he has to) so he says, “I can cover the first couple months while I look for a job.” And just like that he’s in.

“Deal,” she sticks her hand out to him, the sticky Popsicle one but Bucky shakes it anyways so he can avoid using his metal hand. “Some advice…get a shower and a meal. The bakery across the street is good. Shave, for shits sake, you look awful. And clothes. If you’ve got so much damn money just lying around go buy some. Also. Learn Romanian.”

He nods, not sure what to say and feeling increasingly uncomfortable and exposed in the hallway. Her face changes just a fraction then, her body softening just a bit. Sympathy lies in her eyes as she asks, “Wanna come in John? I can get you the key and explain some things and also your lack of body weight is making me nervous so I’m going to feed you.”

Bucky hesitates. She’s nice if a little weird and he has the sudden un-conjured image of HYDRA finding him and finding  _her_. He needs to live here but that doesn’t mean he has to interact with her, and besides he doesn’t need another death on his conscience. “I shouldn’t.”

“Then I’m not giving you a key,” she says smugly. She squints, leaning forward right into his personal space bubble, “Are you ex-military?”

Bucky stiffens and shoves past her. He’ll stay long enough to get the goddamn key and then get away from this person. He doesn't like how she seems to just look at him and  _know_  things. She’s laughing behind him as she shuts the door. Bucky feels better immediately with the door shut and he relaxes just slightly, some tension draining from his shoulders. “Hey, there’s a kerosene heater over there. You’re shivering a bit.” The warmth feels like its melting his bones away, like its melting  _him_  away and….he’ll stay for just a bit. He crouches in front of it and feels so much better, so much more real, that he could cry. 

She gives him some bread and hot soup as he warms up by the heater, refusing to move for just a moment. And Bucky….he can’t remember the last warm meal he had and so he has to hide his face from her, the tears brewing, not that she’s paying him much attention. She’s rattling pots and pans around in the kitchen, seemingly just to make the noise.

She bounces over to him after a while, having completed some odd ritual with the pans, with a smile on her face. “So, a few things of note Jonathan-,” Bucky is regretting giving her any name at all. He supposes it’s better than Hobo Man though. “-I’m loud. I keep odd hours and everything I’m involved in is not exactly ‘legal’. We’re doing this under the table so anything that breaks is your problem. I sometimes have two dogs that are more likely to eat you than love you but they love me so it doesn’t much matter.” Bucky wonders what she means by she  _sometimes_  has two dogs. “Anything you wanna know?”

“Your name?” Bucky asks before he can stop himself.

She throws back her head and laughs, “You realize the irony don’t you _John_?” She cocks an eyebrow at him. He does but he’ll still ask. She smirks, “You can call me Ana.” And, of course, he has no idea if this is her real name.

“Why did you decide to rent to me?”

She shrugs, eyes glittering. “I like a puzzle. I like a challenge. But I especially like a puzzle that seems familiar but won’t fit together quite right.” Ana presses the key into his dirty hand, “Eat as much as you like, _dorohyy_.” He has a feeling that she might have another reason for deciding to rent to him as she skips to the window and looks down into the street.

 

~

 

Bucky does eat as much as he pleases and then takes his key and his backpack and goes to explore his new apartment a floor below Ana's. He does an initial sweep and then goes back over the place more thoroughly, once, twice, three times before he’s satisfied. He can hear Ana upstairs having a conversation with herself in several different voices, as though rehearsing a play. He decides her erratic behavior is either very good or very bad, as people like that either paid too much attention or none at all.

He turns on the heater in the main room and then starts a bath. The water takes a long time to warm but he’s determined to have a hot bath and so he waits. Ana is making a lot of noise now, banging around and singing so badly and loudly it reminds him of-

No.

Blond hair. Scrawny.  _Steve, would ya stop with that racket? Ya can’t sing worth a-_

He pushes the memory away, refuses to give it attention at the moment. But….shit. He pulls out a notebook and sits on the closed toilet so he can scribble it down quickly before slamming it closed and tossing it roughly back in the bag. He wants to remember, at least most of the time, but he hates that the memories sneak up on him. He's never prepared, not fully anyways.

The bath is finally filled and so he strips and tries not to wince at how much  _peeling_  it takes to get the material away from his body. Bucky lets himself enjoy the water, free floats for a bit to let the dirt come away itself before grabbing the bar soap he had carefully set on the side of the tub, scrubbing until his skin feels raw and looks pink and shiny. His hair takes the longest to disentangle and clean but it too eventually yields to his ministrations. He decides that Ana’s loudness won’t bother him, both because it covers his noise and movements but also because he feels like he isn’t so  _alone_.

He changes into his only other pair of clothes, clean, thankfully. He roots around in his bag for his knife and then carefully begins the task of shaving away the long beard he had accumulated since the events in Washington D.C. He had wandered for a long time after that, months really, confused and alone and afraid and-

Bucky is glad shaving is task that requires a lot of attention.

 

~

 

Bucky opens his door to find a neat pile of clothes stacked there the next morning. A post-it note on the top reads:

_Djedefre’s old clothes. Have fun finding a job, you trash hobo man, ‘John.’ Shave. Learn Romanian. Don’t look so suspicious. Keep ya wallet close. Love ‘Ana’ :)_

She has the worst handwriting of any person he’s ever known. Though he supposes that isn’t saying much as he can’t much remember most people he’s met. He wonders who Djedefre is briefly before crumpling the note in his hand and toeing the clothes though his door. He shuts the door and locks it though he's left nothing important behind.

Bucky's anxiety is rapidly rising as he walks away and thinks about Ana.

The clothes don’t bother him. The note doesn’t bother him. It’s the fact that he was awake all night and didn’t hear her deposit the clothes outside his door that does.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dorohyy- Ukrainian for darling


	2. Time

A month passes and Bucky doesn’t hear anything from Ana. Well, he supposes ‘hear’ isn’t the right word. He hears her alright, banging around and cursing and talking and music, so much music at all hours of the day.

Then one evening there’s a tentative knock at his door. He knows it’s Ana by the sound of her footsteps which he had had to retrain himself to be able to hear. For all her noise, she moved silent as the dead.

“So here’s the thing Johnny boy,” she says without any sort of greeting when he opens the door. “You’ve been here a month and I haven’t seen any of that upfront payment and also none of the second month’s rent so I’m either here for my money or to kick you out. Your choice.”

She flutters on the balls of her feet as Bucky’s eyes grow wide. He had completely forgotten about the money. Ana raises one brow before he shuts the door in her face to go get the money he’s hidden around the place.

A few minutes later when he’s finally collected the money he half expects her to be gone but of course she’s completely fucking insane and so she’s still there, crouched on the floor and scratching a cat behind its ears. Where the fuck the cat came from he can’t be sure. “Oh look John does have the money, Jax.” Ana stands and takes the cash from his outstretched hand. Bucky snatches his hand back as quickly as he can, tugging down his sleeve. She stands there for a second rocking back and forth on her toes, looking quite awkward. “Well I guess I’ll be going then…” she scoots away a few feet. Bucky shuts the door.

 

~

 

_Soldier, the soldier, get the soldier, soldier we have a mission for you, soldier, soldier, soldier soldiersoldiersoldiersoldier._

_BUCKY_

_Mission report._

_He doesn’t know. What mission? Which mission? Why are they staring at him?_

_Mission report._

_Captain America. He knows._

_Alive. They laugh. The soldier did not fail missions. He knew his punishment for failing._

_But he did fail because he knew him. He saved him, he-_

_Mission report._

_Alive. Hopefully alive and well because Steve gets colds in the winter and he was awful wet from the river that day so he might have caught pneumonia. In that case Bucky should be at work. They’ll need the money. They-_

_Soldier. You don’t know him._

_No, he doesn’t. Why would he? He doesn’t know anyone._

Bucky jerks awake on the floor. The heater went out and the apartment is strangely quiet. Ana is quiet and Bucky finds himself worrying about her. In the month and a half he’d been there it has never once been quiet. He tries not to care, not to worry. But goddammit if it wasn’t some deep seated need, deep seated instinct to care and protect. He doesn’t know how it survived after everything but he supposes he was protective of his handlers and-

He gets up. He’ll just check on her quickly, make sure nothing fishy is going on. He climbs the steps heavily, but on silent feet, frustrated with Ana, frustrated with himself. Her door is closed and when he knocks no one answers. Bucky’s anxiety rises. He tells himself it’s because he needs to fucking live here and if that woman got herself murdered or otherwise with her weird habits then-

Bucky shoves the door and isn’t surprised at all when it opens easily. The room is messy and dark but nothing seems out of place, no sign of a struggle. Bucky turns to leave irritated at himself for worrying and at Ana for nothing being wrong. Why did she have to be so fucking loud anyways?

But before he can turn he spots her out the window. On the balustrade of the balcony sits Ana and a guy, their feet dangling over the edge. Two large dogs are beside them with their front paws on the railing and their tongues lolling, and the cat Jax is in Ana’s lap, her arms looped around him so Bucky can only see his tiny head. She leans her head against the guy’s shoulder as they pass a cigarette back and forth. Bucky’s throat closes, suddenly very aware of how alone he is in the world. They look comfortable and at home and Bucky…he can’t ever go home.

He assumed that Ana was also alone. Had grown accustomed to the idea in his mind, that they were both alone.  

In his time in Bucharest so far he’s been able to push the loneliness away. Sometimes it felt like the only emotion he could feel anymore.

That and pain.

But.

He supposes loneliness is a sort of pain. Loneliness has been the lasting thing he’s felt for the last 70 years, when they left him out for too long, when he would begin to remember- loneliness was the first thing he felt. Everything is murky but that is clear. And Ana…with her noise and singing and shouting and movement…he had assumed it was to chase away her own lonesomeness, he hadn’t after all, seen or heard anyone else there. And her noise had in turn driven that sickening feeling from him. And now…a person.

Bucky has no one, nothing.

No one was coming for him then and no one is coming for him now. Their breath clouds together, combined with the smoke. The image blurs with a memory and instead of a balcony it’s a rooftop. Snow and city lights and Steve too stupid and proud to wear a jacket. Bucky couldn't smoke because of Steve and his asthma. The docs used to tell him tobacco would help but it just made his shitty lungs feel worse and so of course Bucky-

He has to turn away.

He closes the door quietly.

Ana turns. She knows.  

 

~

 

“-I swear to god, John, I will knock down this door!”

Bucky groans and sits up, he has a migraine and, of course, today would be the day that Ana decides to come and collect the rent. But he gets up. He hasn’t spoken to anyone in a week, not even a street vendor or a sales person to practice his Romanian, and he’s starting to go a little stir crazy despite himself. It’s been a bad week, with memories creeping up on him, and anxiety making itself more than known, and headaches and nightmares and no sleep.  

He opens the door, “I’ll get you the money tonight-,” A cat is shoved into his arms. “W-What-,” he starts to splutter.

“I need you to babysit him. He gets lonely. His name is Jax and I’ll take some money off the rent this month and I’ll help you with your Romanian, if you would like that. I’ve noticed you’re sorta a solitary guy,” she says all in a rush. “Just let him sit in one of your cabinets. He doesn’t like open spaces. I have a thing I have to attend to right now and no I can’t tell you what it is.” Ana rattling the pots and pans around the day they met suddenly makes sense. It wasn’t her, the damn cat lived there and she had been playing with him to give Bucky space while he ate in her living room.

He looks at the cat in his arms, already purring and rubbing its head against his chest. Jax is all black but for spots of white on the tips of his ears. “I’ll look after him,” Bucky says, some odd soothing feeling overcoming him as he strokes the unusually small cat.

She beams, “Great! Thanks, ol’ John boy. He shouldn’t be any trouble.”

Ana starts to walk away when, “Ana,” he says and she stops and turns. “I’ll take your offer about learning Romanian.”

She nods, “Excellent. I’ve noticed it’s awful.”

Bucky wonders how she knows it’s awful.

 

~

 

“You’re lying to me,” Ana says gently to the woman sitting across from her. She only sobs harder when Ana says this. “I know it’s hard but we can’t help you if you don’t tell the truth.”

The woman shakes her head and Ana rolls her eyes before standing and nodding to Djedefre. He starts to walk away, Ana following. “Wait.” They turn, “I’ll talk, if what I heard about you is true. That you keep your  _word_  about these things.”  

“It’s true.”

They turn back to the bruised and battered woman. Lipstick smeared, nails broken. Her left eye is swollen shut and her mouth bruised. “You can make sure?” The room is poorly lit but Ana notices the tear drip onto the metal table where the woman sits.

“We can make sure he goes away, that they go away. You never have to sell yourself again. We’ll find you honest work and a place.”

“I’ll talk.” They sit back down and when they leave they keep their promise.

 

~

 

“Thanks for watching my cat, buddy, pal, amigo, par-,”

“Lay off,” Bucky says and hands the cat back to her, if a little reluctantly. He likes the cat. Likes the gentle purring and the presence and the peace. She tucks Jax into her jacket and zips it until only his head sticks out. Bucky stares at her.

She raises an eyebrow and turns to go, “Thanks again.”

“Wait-,” Bucky cringes. He shouldn’t talk to her. It’s dangerous. It’s stupid. It’s-

“Haven’t got all day, Johnny.” She says and makes a show of tapping her foot and looking annoyed, one arm cupped around Jax so he doesn’t slide out of her jacket. But her smile is peaking through. When he still doesn’t say anything she turns again, muttering under her breath, “Why is everyone like this today for Christ’s sake.” But Bucky knows she isn’t just going to walk off so he waits until she says, “Wanna come up for dinner?”

Bucky locks his door and takes Jax back from Ana.

She smiles.

 

~

 

“Look, I’m telling you right now, people aren’t meant to be alone.” She pours Bucky some wine in a very fancy, fine wine glass that does not match the state of the rest of her possessions.

Bucky frowns at the wine, “You are.” He knows it’s not true. She had at least one person. She might have more friends. He honestly isn’t sure anymore and that scares him. To know so little about her. She who is imbalanced and has potential access to his apartment.

She shakes her head, “You don’t know me. And I don’t know you. But I know you are very alone.” Ana tilts her head to the side, “Do you like music? Every person I have ever rented that place to have been as loud as me, if not louder. Not you, you’re like a ghost.”

Bucky clenches his fingers around the glass so hard it cracks. He lets go of it as miniscule fractures appear in the crystal. Ghost. That’s what some of them called him. Ghost. And wasn’t it true? Isn’t that exactly what he is? He didn’t feel alive most days. He felt achy and raw and split open and like no one would look at him. Like he’s screaming and screaming and the crowd just parts around him, uncaring or unknowing, it doesn’t much matter. Because he might be alive but when no one knows it, does it even matter? But he wants to live. He wants to do this. He wants to remember. He wants to remember who Bucky is so that he might find his way home, instead of living forever in this half-suspended, between worlds state. He wants to go home. And this, he thinks, might be the only way to do so.

To hunker down and persevere. Alone and forgotten or not, he’ll do it.

He clears his throat as Ana stares at him with those wide, knowing eyes. “I, uh, haven’t listened to much music lately.” He used to like music, he thinks. Or is that some half-remembered false memory? He shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs nestled in his brain in vain.

“Well, lucky for you, my dearest hobo renter, I have the most excellent music taste in the world.” She gets up from the table, leaving her spaghetti and garlic bread behind. Bucky doesn’t know how she can just leave food behind like that. Then, “Don’t you touch that food or I’ll physically fight you about it.”

He feels his mouth twitch.

He wants to smile.

He isn’t sure he knows how any more.

Ana bounces back to the table and deposits a load of CDs there. “I know, I know, I know. Fre keeps telling me to go digital but...” She shrugs, “There’s something about a CD.”    

She sorts through them, showing him each and watching for some sign of recognition. He pretends to know some artists, can even name some songs. But she would bet he’s never listened to any of them before.

She smiles and goes through patiently, sometimes slipping into Romanian, just to see how far he’s come in two months. He’s come a long way apparently. John, she decides, is very intelligent. And hiding something. But so is she and so she says nothing.

Ana lets him have the rest of her spaghetti.   


	3. Cats and Katya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any thoughts or suggestions I'd love to hear them. <3 thanks for reading!

Bucky has been in Bucharest for four months now and he and Ana have formed a tentative friendship. He mostly puts up with her so he can visit her cats. Apparently she has more than one but they’re ‘drifters’ as she calls them, Jax the only permanent cat as he’s afraid of the outdoors. He has yet to encounter the mysterious dogs, whom ghostly sightings were so rare Bucky thinks they’d make excellent spies or assassins or anything of the like.

Djedefre, whom Bucky is often subjected to long monologues about, is just as elusive. Ana’s occupation or lack thereof also remains shrouded in mystery. But Bucky finds himself liking her, despite his reservations about her quirks and shady workings. He thinks she might be a good person but he’s no longer such a good judge of these things and so he isn’t sure.

Romania and Eastern Europe in general is moving toward winter now and so Bucky spends a little too much time in Ana’s apartment with her cats where it’s warmer and decidedly more occupied. She’s out at the moment, the whole building seemingly much quieter without her though Bucky can hear a baby crying a few doors down and a mother singing something softly in Romanian. Bucky promised to feed the cats for her whenever she’s going to be out at their feeding time. She’ll stick a note to his door, usually with some stupid joke, to let him know of his duties.

Tonight it’s just Jax and Puff. Puff is the direct opposite of Jax, completely and somehow pristinely white. She’s also fat and has copious amounts of hair, with an ugly, squished in face to boot. Bucky thinks she’s great, her grumpy face not matching her happy personality at all.

He turns to Ana’s apartment after giving both animals a good scratch behind the ears as they eat in the kitchen. Bucky finds himself wishing she were here. It’s easier to pretend things are normal, that  _this_  is normal when she’s around, chattering and chattering and chattering about one thing or the other. And so Bucky sits on her couch to wait, after doing a sweep of the apartment, both because her place is warmer and he wants to tell her something. She is, after all, the only person he knows and so he supposes she’ll do.

Guilt settles hard in him as he waits. He shouldn’t have befriended her, or rather shouldn’t have let  _her_  befriend  _him_. It’s dangerous. He knows that any day literally anyone could show up to drag him away kicking and screaming. But…he’s so starved for human interaction that he can’t much help it. He looks forward to talking to her, what small conversations he did allow.    

He perks up as he identifies the sound of her footsteps approaching, silent to anyone but him. “Buna, draga mea!” Ana shouts as she throws open the door. Bucky doesn’t react to her endearment.  _Hello, my darling_ , she had said.

“Buna. Ce mai faci?” He responds, asking her how she is.

She beams at him and says in English, “You are practically accent-less! Such a quick study, John. I’m almost jealous if I wasn’t just a bit quicker.”

“You’ll teach me how to read Romanian next, yeah?” She nods in agreement as she sheds her coat and sets down grocery bags. “How many languages do you speak?” He asks. Dangerous, dangerous, and getting too close, he shouldn’t care, shouldn’t ask, he-

“Five so far, although I don’t know Romani counts,” she says as she empties the bags. “Come here. Dinner as payment for the cats.”

He moves to sit at the table as she begins shifting through her CD collection. “And why wouldn’t Romani count?”

She turns, “You know who speaks Romani? It’s the language of gypsies. And I speak a very specific brand of it. It’s not well known and you can’t google translate that shit.”

Bucky nods and tries some of the food, Indian food he thinks. It’s good, he can actually taste it on his fried taste buds. “And why do you speak the language of gypsies? Where did you learn it?”

Ana shakes her finger at him, “Trying to get me to reveal my hand. Not a chance.”

“What else do you speak?” He asks instead, trying to glean some information about her. She doesn't trust him and that's fine.  _He_  doesn't trust anyone after all. 

“Romanian and English. Russian and Ukrainian. I’m learning Czech now and Fre is trying to teach me Arabic but it isn’t going that well,” she says with a shrug as she jams a CD into the player and sits across from him at the table. She leans forward, chin balanced in her hand, “I’m having trouble with the Arabic characters. What languages do you speak?”

He chokes around a bite, “How do you know I-,”

“I’m not stupid,” she says flatly. “You’ve got at least Russian under your belt. You understood it that first day.”

Instead of admitting anything he asks, “Will you teach me Ukrainian? When we’re finished with Romanian?” In Bucky’s experience it’s better to know as many languages as you can, rather than one or two and hoping for the best. And besides…he likes learning languages and well…Ana could be pretty good company.

She looks shocked and offended as though he’s just asked her to strip for him. “ _No_ ,” she says, horrified. Ana starts spooning food onto her plate and Bucky notices her hand shaking just a bit. He wants to apologize but nothing comes out and instead they eat in silence.  

He isn’t sure.

But he thinks he’s right.

Ukrainian is her mother tongue.

And he didn't even get to tell her about the job he found.

 

~

 

There is something undeniably intimate and sacred about one’s mother tongue. When in a foreign place hearing one’s own language is such a miracle that one can feel deep in their gut a connection and a sense of relief, a sense of home.

But when one has not spoken with someone in their own language in years, when the language is theirs and theirs alone, it becomes horded and not just sacred but  _everything_. Ana decides she will not teach John Ukrainian. It’s hers and its precious and she won’t share it until she can be sure he’s trustworthy. But no one is much for trustworthiness these days, she thinks as she walks down a familiar corridor.

She knocks when she reaches the door she seeks and it only takes a few minutes and the undoing of many locks for Ana to be admitted to the space. “Hello, darling,” she says to the woman before crouching down to greet the woman’s son. “How are you settling in?” Well, by the looks of it. A hot meal is on the stove and the baby has gained weight. Her bruises have healed and her hands are raw from washing dishes but she’s whole.

The woman covers her face as tears overcome her, “So good, we are so good, Ana.” Ana picks up the baby to cradle in her arms. “I can never thank you enough. The job makes my hands raw from the water and the cold but it is  _good_. You’ll stay for dinner, yes?”

“Only if you have enough,” Ana says, carefully maneuvering the smiling baby in her arms. “He has gotten so big, Marie! You must be so proud.”

She turns from ladling something into a bowl for her guest, “I am proud I have the chance to see him grow big, that I have food for him. I will see him grow up now. I have no doubts about that.”

Ana bounces the baby who smiles and laughs, “Yes, Marie, you will.”

She eats dinner with them and then moves on to another apartment in a different section of the city and goes through a similar encounter. That day, she visits no less than fifteen women.

 

~

 

Bucky is over for dinner again, eating and petting Jax who sits in his lap, when the door to the apartment is flung open. He had heard the steps approaching but he hadn’t expected the steps to invade into their space. He jumps but stays sitting, cradling Jax as a woman in a short skirt and fishnets stomps into the room. She has large breasts stuffed into a too small tube top and a faux fur jacket over top.

She stops at the table and stares at Ana who just keeps reading the newspaper, glasses perched on the end of her nose. Bucky thinks they might be fake glasses, the lenses just pieces of glass. It’s honestly not surprising at all that she had fake glasses and so Bucky hadn’t mentioned it. “Ana!”

“Katya,” she says calmly, continuing to read. Bucky is shocked as Katya then starts to curse in Russian, louder and louder and louder and he’s suddenly having a hard time focusing on anything. His hand shakes and he has to set the fork down. He's done something wrong that's why they're shouting. He'll be punished next. What did he do? What-

Ana notices, sensing his distress, and still without looking away from the paper says, “Enough Katya.”

“You bitch!” She says now in English, “You kick me out of apartment?” Her English is heavily accented. Her white blonde hair falls out of its ponytail as she leans on the table, anger emanating off her.

Ana turns a page, “Yes. I had you evicted. You remember our deal. And if you remember correctly then you’ll know part of the deal was giving up the life.”

Katya slaps the paper out of Ana’s hands and Bucky has the sudden urge to strangle her, to reach up and wrap his metal hand around her throat and  _squeeze_  until she left them alone for good. “You think this helps me? You are crazy!”

“Katya. I was reading that.” Katya rolls her eyes as Ana continues, “Word is that you’re back with Vlad and that this time you’re cutting a deal with drugs too.”

“I hated job! Was terrible and boring.”

“Then go back to what you were doing but I can’t support you. The only reason your ass isn’t in prison is my vouching for you. You went back on that. I had to cut ties.” Ana doesn’t bother with sounding apologetic. She couldn’t help people that didn’t let themselves be helped.

“What you want? More information?” She demands, slapping the table with her palms, “I need apartment.”

Ana shakes her head, “You leave the life and I protect you. Without that everything goes away. Apartment, protection, allowances for tough times, the job, it’s all gone.”

“Job was terrible. Hours shit and-,”

Ana fixes her with a glare, “And I could have gotten you a different job.”

Katya lets out a groan of frustration, “You are hypocrite. You want to help but all you do is-,”

“Yeah, it’s going to be hard at first but that doesn’t mean you give up at the first bad thing that happens.” Ana stares her down, “You’re afraid. Sit down. I’ll get you something to eat.”

Katya sits down in Ana’s vacated place. She doesn’t make eye contact and that’s when Bucky sees the bruises, feels her pain and fear. “Who is this?” she asks without looking at Bucky. “Is he your fuck?”

“No. He’s my friend and neighbor,” Ana says steadily and it’s the calmest and most normal he’s ever seen her. She sits a bowl of soup in front of the woman and then says, “Tell me.”

 

~

 

_The table is cold underneath him. Hard, cold metal. And a man is looking down at him. Saying something he can’t hear. Something about an arm, something about pain, and then-_

_Then pain._

_Real live fire in his veins and on his body, heat, heat, heat and then cold. Freezing painful cold. More questions and maybe he answers them. He isn’t sure. He finds it doesn’t much matter._

_He realizes then he isn’t answering questions but screaming. And no one can hear and those who do cause the pain. Where is Steve? The other Howlies? Weren't they coming? Didn't anyone remember him? He wants his mother suddenly, has never felt more homesick. He wants to go home._

_Homehomehome._

_But, how long has it been? He has the distinct feeling that much time has passed with him unaware of it doing so._

_After some time he no longer screams._

_He knows now that there isn’t a point._

_He is caged and will never be anything but._


	4. Snow

Bucharest is covered in snow, a thick blanket of it, sparkly and fresh and new. Children dance in the streets and have snowball fights as city workers decorate for the upcoming holiday season, light filling up the darkness left by the chill of the winter months. And so Bucky doesn’t mind walking back from work during the cold winter’s early mornings before the sun has yet risen.

His job at a local restaurant isn’t bad. He doesn’t have to talk to anyone and although the pay isn’t good, he likes it. The owner seems to like him, to Bucky’s immense surprise, and hired him on as a custodian. So, he stayed after the place closed for the night and cleaned the kitchen and the dining room of the small restaurant as the owner, Alexander, counted the day’s profits and chattered at him, not really knowing or caring if Bucky was listening or not. He’s being paid under the table of course as he has no papers or identification. He’s glad for Alexander’s constant talking as it helps with his learning Romanian and helped him focus on anything other than his horrifying past and sneaking memories.

He has about half a notebook now of half-remembered memories, most of them incomplete or missing information. And most times he isn’t really sure if they’re false memories or not, if what he remembers really happened or not, or if he’s just being hopeful. Hopefulness, he thinks, should have been snuffed out of him long ago. But there it is, barely there, but still shining if a little dimly.

But things seem okay for the moment. The only problem seemed to be that his hours and Ana’s conflicted so that when he got home, she’s either out or asleep and Bucky is forced to deal with the thoughts he managed to stave off all night at the diner.  

 

~

 

“Quick question John, uh, what century were you born in?”

Bucky scratches the back of his neck, “The last…one?” Technically, it isn’t a lie.

She rolls her eyes, “No shit Sherlock. Me too. But you have the absolute worst knowledge of pop culture and music I have ever seen.”

“I, uh, don’t listen to music much,” he says as he rubs Jax behind the ears nervously.

Ana plops next to him on the couch, “I don’t much believe you,  _John_. Everyone listens to music. And also, Eddie Money. Hello? Greatest artist of our time?”

Bucky seriously doubts that. Of all the music he’s heard from her, all of its weird and most of it seem to be from the eighties. But he isn’t sure and so he doesn’t say anything. Music knowledge was not something HYDRA worried themselves with him knowing. She seems to like, despite her complaining however, that Bucky doesn’t know anything about music. It gives her a blank slate to work with, he thinks. “I want a second opinion about Eddie Money,” he says quietly, dropping his eyes back to the cat in his lap. Wide, light brown eyes follow his hands as they stroke the cat, one gloved and one smooth, pale flesh, fingers long and delicate but worn, a soldier’s hands but also those of someone who had the potential to be an excellent piano player. Delicate, as it were. She wonders what happened to his left hand, why he kept it covered at all times.

Ana snaps her attention back to his face and glares at him, “You have ears don’t you? Give yourself a second opinion.” He rolls his eyes and continues listening to the song playing over the stereo.

“I like that other one better,” he says after a few minutes when the song ends, Ana bopping along to the beat next to him. He already can’t remember what she said it’s called. “The one about December?”

Ana grins, “See it isn’t all bad!”

“I didn’t say it was bad just that I doubt it’s the best ever,” he shrugs. “What’s the other one called?” Bucky secretly likes it all but it’s fun to mess with her when she’s so adamant that her choices were the best.  _Fun_ , it hits him like a ton of bricks. The Winter Soldier did not have  _fun_ -

She jumps up from the couch and bounces on her toes as another song comes on, “Literally called  _December, 1963_  by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. Probably the year you were born you old, old man.” Oh, if only she knew. She twirls away and scoops Puff up from the floor, who was lazing next to the warmth of the heater. “Poor, poor old man John who’s never listened to music before Puff. What a sad life he must lead. This one is called  _I Want To Know What Love Is_  by Foreigner,” she says mentioning the new song that’s just come on. This one is slower but still, if he had to guess, from the eighties.  

Ana deposits Puff on the couch next to Bucky who immediately curls in a ball and gives him a death glare as though he was the one who disturbed her place on the floor. “And let me tell you if you don’t fuck a girl to this song at least once in your life then you aren’t living life properly.”  

Bucky chokes around the breath he had just sucked in and looks up at her as she smirks down at him. “Or you know…whatever gender you’re attracted to.”

He isn’t exactly sure what to say to that so he doesn’t say anything as his face slowly turns red. Bucky quickly gets out a reply before she can zero in on his embarrassment, “Yeah, sure, to this shitty song?”

She gasps and turns back to him, “Well look at that. John can give it back. But no you’re wrong. You gotta fuck  _someone_  to this song  _at least_  once.”

Bucky thinks nearly every day that she can’t get any weirder or more surprising but then she says things like this and he thinks it might never end. “Have  _you_?”

“Probably,” she says, slow dancing around the room with an imaginary partner, hand on one make believe shoulder, the other extended, folded around a pretend hand as she spins.    

“ _Probably_?” Footsteps on the stairs, taking them two at a time. Their floor. Their hallway. He doesn’t recognize them and then the door is flung open and he just manages to get to his feet, knife out, Jax jumping away from his lap with a loud yowl, to push Ana behind him. When-

“Fre! What’s-,”

Fre.  _Shit_. He stuffs the knife away and darts away from Ana, head down.  _Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look at him, not too close, please-_

Fre is tall and thin, but leanly muscular. He has brown skin and closely cropped hair, his eyes are narrow and a dark brown so deep they seem black. “There’s a situation.” His voice is accented but clear and Ana looks worried suddenly.

“My dear Egyptian prince what-,”

He rolls his eyes, and then takes in Bucky now standing to the side. Fre’s posture stays defensive as he says, “We do not have time for your nonsense, Ana.”

She shrugs, her body suddenly taut with tension, “Alright. See you around, Johnny. Stay as long as you want. Lock the door. Take what food you want.” Her coat is on, her boots laced and Bucky is suddenly left alone with Foreigner still playing in the background, Jax mewling softly. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to regulate his racing heart and mind. The panic attack comes softly but deep and wretched all the same.

 

~

 

Ana and Djedefre walk toward the police lights and yellow tape, collars turned up against the harsh wind, hands fisted in their coat pockets. “You’re letting that man get too close to you,” Fre says to her, thinking of the knife he saw flash in the man’s hand and disliking him immediately. “You’re soft-hearted already. After what happened to you I thought you would be more cautious of who you let near.”

Snow crunches under their boots as Ana lets a long pause settle between them for a moment. “Katya likes him and Katya hates everyone. He’s gentle and strange and he’s my new friend so you leave him be. And don’t try to look into him. He doesn’t trust anyone. And  _you_  do not get to tell me who to let near and who to shut out,” she states firmly.

He turns his dark eyes on her and ignores her last comment, “You don’t want me to look into him?”

“No. He’s my puzzle,” she says, not meeting Fre’s eyes. They reach the police tape and stand at the edge of the crowd gathered there. A body lies on the ground, not yet covered by anything. Blood coats the snow and the alley walls, a violent death for someone so young, a bright spotlight illuminates the scene keeping the darkness at bay. The woman lying there is naked, bruised and battered, blood still blooming across the snow and ice. It trickles toward the tape. Her body is heavily marred by deep slashes. “Where are her clothes?”

“They can’t find them.”

“So, she was dragged out here-,”

“Naked,” he nods. “She was our next girl.” Ana looks over in shock as Fre watches a member of the police force finally cover the body with a sheet. “And since she’s naked she was probably-,”

“Yeah,” she interrupts, not needing to hear that disgusting word. “Are they searching surrounding buildings?” Ana asks, craning her neck, trying to see the girl’s face.

Fre shakes his head and nods to the ground, “Car. They stopped, killed her, and left.” Ana’s brows scrunch together as Fre says, “They lifted her a few days ago by the state of the place she was staying in.”

“No one reported it?” Fre shakes his head again as Ana continues on to ask, “You think this is connected to our work? The agency will want to know about this.” Ana thinks that the agency can fuck off but-

“I think they’re tired of us taking their prisoners and this is a warning to back off.”

Ana watches as people begin taking photos of the scene, “And they would kill one of their own girls to send the message. Double security on our people. Covert. We don’t want more attention but we do need extra protection. Get in touch with our contact. I want the autopsy and her case file.”

Fre gives an affirmative nod and says, “I’ll see you tomorrow. We should speed up our schedule. If this is about us they’ll be looking for her already.” With that Fre walks away, disappearing in the crowd so suddenly his presence feels like a dream.

Ana goes to check on the girls.

 

~

 

It takes all night and most of the next morning to check on all the people under their protection. Ana informs them of the situation and listens to their concerns while wondering how Vlad’s crew learned the names of the next girls they planned to help, to protect.

When she gets home John has left again but he left her heat on high so it was warm for her when she got home, and he made the cats a cozy little nest on the couch out of blankets and pillows. Jax meows at her, big dark eyes searching her out. “You miss John don’t you?  I don’t know why you don’t just live with him you freeloader.” She knows he’s probably at work and she smiles despite herself at the memory of John telling her nervously that he’d found one, under the table and under paid but still a job. A blessing for someone without papers. He was so anxious and excited as though he wasn’t used to being able to tell people things, as though he wasn’t used to having a small joy to be happy  _about_. She knows what that feeling is like and so she had listened excitedly and probably embarrassed him more than a little.

“Oh, Jax, John is the saddest person ever, probably.” He’s silent and often sad with a distance in his eyes that did not match his age, but he’s still kind as he did things like make a bed for the cats and leave her heat on so it wouldn’t be cold when she got in. He fed the cats and listened to her jokes and let her berate him with what some would class as a terrible taste in music and was always willing to put up with her odd ways, never once telling her she’s annoying or too much. Which does not fit with his wretched cerulean eyes and drooping shoulders, his isolation and  _fear_. He’s afraid. Always, always afraid.

There’s a file on the coffee table with a post-it note.

 _It’s_   _bad_ , is all it says.

 

~

 

Ana hasn’t really been at home the last week and Bucky feels more isolated than ever so he visits the library to do some research…about himself and maybe Steve, to get his mind off the emptiness of the apartment building.

Captain America. He wishes he could just  _remember_. Steve Rogers and Captain America are two different people. Steve is both small and large, sick and healthy, but always a righteous little raincloud. And Captain America…still Steve but not. And that is what he can’t reconcile. The shield and the red, white, and blue blur with a beige jacket and boney shoulders. There are too many versions of Steve that he can’t fit together in his mind. Too many personalities and bodies. If they’re even real memories. Coney Island and hot dogs and warm summers but cold winters and sick, tiny Steve walking home in the snow and Bucky not being able to let that happen. But who the fuck  _Bucky_  is…no amount of googling can tell him that. And Brooklyn…looking up images of now and then had nearly made him throw up because even if he can’t remember exactly what it looked like to  _him_ , one definitely looks more  _right_  than the other.

It’s painful and takes forever and Bucky feels hollowed out when he leaves and by the time he gets to the apartment his head is pounding, a painful thumping that lets him know he’s going to have horrid dreams that night. Ana isn’t making any noise and so he figures she must be out again. She’s been out a lot in the last week whether for work or otherwise he’s not sure.

Right when he gets comfortable, snuggled down in a blanket in the warmest corner of the room he hears Ana’s soft steps on the stairs and then a knock at his door. “John?” Bucky doesn’t answer, not prepared to deal with her bullshit at the moment. But when her voice comes back it’s broken, nothing like her usual cheerful, odd self. “I know you’re there. Uh, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It’s been a tough week and we usually talk more…or, I, uh, usually talk  _at_  you more. So…see you around. Hope you’re doing okay.”

Bucky’s never heard her sound so dejected and hopeless and so he gets up. “Wait,” he calls softly as she starts to retreat. Fuck. Fuck.  _Fuck_. Why couldn’t he leave things alone? “Just…hold on a minute.” Something sparks in his mind at her distress, like he should help her, like he needs to. Something screams at him to help, to at least check. Steve, he thinks, he used to check on Steve. At least…that’s his only connection, for now.

It’s been a bad day for him and even though he shouldn’t talk to her, endanger her... But, it’s been a bad day.

For both of them.

And it’s cold and almost Christmas.

And Bucky…he craves the interaction, that human feeling. He’s tired of being alone.

He hasn’t felt human in a long time, decades, and he’s starting to become addicted to the feeling.

So, he opens the door.


	5. Hard

Christmas comes and goes and Bucky becomes more and more curious about Ana and her lifestyle. Apparently something had happened to put her and Fre on high alert. He has not had a spare moment with her since the day she knocked on his door, making sure he was alright. It was an odd feeling, someone genuinely caring about his well-being. But after that she had gone and he had not really seen her since. Or heard her. She would dart in for food or clothes or a bit of sleep and then she was gone again. And Bucky would be lying if he didn’t say that he’s becoming lonely again and panicking only a little because of it. He had even heard Katya’s disappointed steps on the stairs, whenever she would come by only to find the apartment void of its rambunctious occupant. 

But this morning, Bucky had went for a run, cold air searing his lungs, making him feel, forcing him to focus, to look away from that apartment and whatever might be going on with its owner. Then he goes back to the apartment (Ana’s still empty and silent) to shower and change before heading to the market. Normal, he thinks, normal people did this once or twice a week and took it completely for granted. The simple freedom of going to the store and getting food that you like, of being able to go to the store at all, of not being force fed and-

He likes the store. The market wouldn’t be back until spring, which he likes better, but anything really is better than before. Bucky gets lots of new food to try and then some that he’s already decided he likes and heads home. To the apartment. His home? He isn’t sure.

 

~

 

Bucky is nearly to his building when he notices the street fight going on. He walks nearer despite his better judgement. And, of course, there is Ana and Fre standing to the side, cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, sunglasses perched on their faces, jacket covered arms crossed as they observe, occasionally commenting to each other about the fight going on.  

“What are you doing?” he asks quietly when he’s near enough, a quiet fire behind his words that he doesn't recognize and that Ana either doesn't acknowledge or recognize. He tries to push away the feeling, the fury.

“John!” Ana exclaims, taking the cigarette between two fingers from her mouth before grinning at him. “We are betting on this fight.” She gestures to the two teenagers punching each other in the street. “You want in?” Smoke twists away from her hand into the air as she observes him.

Bucky is, frankly, struck dumb. It’s about an equal fight but Bucky’s mind blurs with a small kid getting the shit kicked out of him in a snowy alley, using anything as a shield and never ever staying down even when he should have. He has the sudden urge to break the fight up as he takes a step forward.

“-John?”

He shakes himself and looks at Ana as she takes another drag, blowing smoke away from him. Fre is eyeing him suspiciously, one hand on his belt. Just what he needs, Ana’s best friend thinking he’s some kind of psycho. Many would probably argue that he is which only makes him feel worse. He ducks his head and pulls his baseball cap down further over his ears. “It isn’t some cruel thing. They do this every Thursday ‘til the cops show up and break it up. They’re buddies.” She squints up at him, “Jesus, you must think horrible things about me if you think I’m out here betting on some poor kid getting his ass kicked. I know what it’s like to be the ass kick-ee.”

Bucky squints at her and then the fight, noticing not only the bloody noses this time but also the playful lilt to their words as they taunt each other and the crooked, shit-eating grins. “Sorry,” he says. “I-I…had a friend that used to-,” he cuts off, not willing or able to say more.

“It’s alright John boy. I know how it looks,” she says tossing the cigarette butt to the ground and snuffing it out with the heel of her boot. “But it’s just therapeutic to all of us. Been a tough couple weeks and as much as I would love to fist fight Fre to let off some steam I’m sort of all beat to hell already so…” she trails off as the fight ends, the young guys gathered there calling something over to them that Bucky doesn’t quite understand. “They said tie. Which means I just lost some money,” she grumbles.

But Bucky is still stuck on the ‘all beat to hell already’ comment. It could just be a figure of speech, a joke but…“Are you hurt? What happened?”

She shakes her head handing over some bills to Fre, “I’m fine.”

Fre stuffs the money in his pocket before he shoulder checks her playfully, leaning close to her, “Be careful. I don’t trust him.” A normal person wouldn’t have heard his whispered warning but Bucky’s serum enhanced ears catch every syllable. At a normal volume he says, “You couldn’t take me and we both know it.” His grin is easy as he turns away and Ana smiles.

“Oh yeah? Let’s go sometime!” she shouts. Fre waves without looking back and suddenly Bucky is alone on the street with Ana, gut twisting, the fighting and betting abruptly over. “Ooooooo, which store did you go to? Got anything good?” she asks, trying to peak in his bags. “Wanna come up and practice Romanian? The cats miss you. Jax especially.”

“Are you hurt?” Bucky asks again, effectively shutting her up.

She snaps her mouth shut before smiling tightly, “Just some cuts. It’s fine-,”

“Has someone looked at them? Cleaned them?” Ana notices his tense stance, the anxiety pouring off him.

“No. But they’re oka-,”

“They can get infected,” he interrupts, voice rough with some emotion she can’t quite identify. “I’ll take a look for you.” Bucky says, his tone giving no room for negotiation as he remembers the pain of an untreated wound. His mind jumps to HYDRA even as he tries to head it off, clenching his eyes shut for a moment. Pain, not only of a saw cutting through flesh and bone of the ruined remainder of his arm, but of the aftermath, of the infection and delirium and sickness that came with an untended, open wound. Ana doesn’t deserve that sort of pain, no one does. “ _Please,_ ” he all but begs.

 

She shakes her head, mouth open in disbelief at his desperate, pained tone, “Who  _are_  you?” Curious eyes rover over his face behind thick sunglasses. “Strange,” she murmurs, a smile playing on her lips, “Strange, strange, strange.” Ana turns to walk to their building and Bucky can only assume that that is a yes.

 

~

 

Ana has all the supplies he needs to clean her wounds. She sits on the closed toilette seat in her bathroom as Bucky kneels between her knees and looks at her arms. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, showcasing deep scratches from the inside of her elbows to her wrists. Examining them makes him glad that he insisted on looking. She hadn’t been wearing any sort of dressing on them, just the material of her shirt covering the violent gashes. He cleans them gently with peroxide, trying to make her hiss as little as possible before applying a salve and wrapping both of her forearms in clean gauze. A sense of relief overcomes him as he takes his hands away from the secured cloth.

He rocks back onto his heels and tries to avoid her eyes but those light hazel irises pull him in. She’s got that inquisitive expression on again, as though she can’t quite decide what to make of him. Her hand reaches out to take his flesh hand gently and Bucky freezes immediately, “Thank you, John.” He swallows thickly and gets to his feet, taking his hand out of hers. Touch, when was the last time he was touched so kindly? Decades certainly. His skin suddenly feels on fire, overly sensitive and hot. He carves more and  _that_  is dangerous. And he realizes not only is he deprived of human interaction but his body is deprived of gentle human touch. Handshakes and hugs and gentle touches have not existed in his world for a long time.

Ana stands too and pulls down her sleeves deciding to ignore his odd reaction to her touch. “Got another song to show you. So, come on then.” He follows her out of the bathroom, rubbing his right hand with his gloved left, trying to stop feeling her gentle, soft touch.

“What happened to you?”

She smirks, “I was out fighting the communists and the patriarchy.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and sits at the kitchen table as she searches through her CD collection. He wants to know what she was really doing but he has no right to demand these things from her. Her arms however, concern him.  _She_  concerns him. “Really though?”

She turns, “The truth?”

“Preferably.”

“I tripped on a roof while chasing a man. Scraped my arms on the way down.”

And for some reason the statement rings true to him and his anxiety only grows.

 

~

 

Ana is about a block ahead of him, wrapped in the darkness of shadow and the swirling lightness of falling snow, practically invisible to those still on the street. But not to him. She’s silent and stealthy and he wishes he could leave things alone but he can’t. He’s worried about her and she seems sufficiently unconcerned about her own wellbeing that he’s decided to follow her. Ana stops and so does he. She ducks into a doorway to light a cigarette, her leg bouncing nervously as she takes a long drag.

Bucky creeps closer as a man approaches her. He stops in a doorway of his own to listen, hand fisted around a knife.

“She changed her mind,” the man says in Romanian.

Ana sounds defeated as she asks, “Why?”

“They are afraid. Others…who approached you recently with information have met…terrible ends.” Something is said then that Bucky can’t quite translate. Blood? Something about blood.

Ana’s voice is tight and worried, “We can still help them but they have to come to us.” Bucky can hear her heartbeat, surprisingly steady, but her breathing gives her away as her lungs rattle with each breath, riddled with anxiety. Something scratches at his brain as he listens to her distressed inhalations.

“I fear you must  _wait_  for that. Until things settle down. Which reminds me…I must stop coming to you for a while too.”

 

“ _What_?” Bucky peaks around the corner to see Ana with her hands clenched into fists, jaw set, eyes blazing. Her half smoked cigarette lies burning at her feet, digging a slow trench into the snow on the sidewalk.

The man shakes his head as Ana lights another, smoke billowing from her nostrils as she exhales. “I must go. I’ve been here too long already,” he says, looking around nervously before he lurches away down the street. Bucky watches her figure slump against the side of the building, shoulders defeated, the world weighing on them. He hears a quiet sniffle as she takes a long, shaky pull on the cigarette. He watches her smoke it down to the filter before dropping it down to the ground and taking a deep breath. It looks for a moment as though she might fall to the ground and never move again and Bucky prepares to go to her, trying to think of some excuse as to why he might coincidentally be walking down this particular street. 

But then she stands straight, pulling herself up to full height, and Bucky notices for the first time that she’s tall...and pretty, beautiful even. Worn boots crunch on the snow as she moves back down the street so he darts back around the corner, confident he won’t be seen as a bit of color coats his cheeks.

She passes right by, dark ringlets bouncing against her back tucked underneath her winter cap, fuzzy little bobble right on top. Ana doesn’t look back, snow soon obscuring her retreating form. Loneliness settles over him again, the street empty but for the swirling flakes and howling wind. The darkness presses in again and he has to shut his eyes and wait for the high whine filling his ears to go away and the tears to stop cascading before he begins his own trek back to the apartment.

This is what he gets after all, for being so good at hiding.    

 

~

 

Ana waits for John to get back. Patiently waits. Katya takes up half her couch as loud snores leave her and Fre sits in front of her on the floor, back pressed to the cushions. He’s researching on her laptop balanced on the coffee table in front of him as he eats some left over soup. Her foot begins tapping again and not two seconds later Fre’s voice sounds, “Stop worrying about John.”

“I can’t help it,” she says, glancing at the clock. “Not after what happened yesterday. Another girl dead. And our last channel closed up a few nights ago.”

Fre reaches back and pats Katya’s thigh, “Not our last channel.” The snores stop momentarily before she rolls over and they begin again louder than before.

Ana glares at him from her post at the kitchen counter, “Katya is not a channel. She cuts ties again and now they’ll come for her. Informant not once but  _twice_.” She shakes her head, “We’re running out of options here-,”

“She is still full of valuable information, Ana. And she is our friend, not just someone you saved,” Fre says, clearly settled about the matter. Ana presses her fingers to her temples as she rolls her eyes. She loves Katya but she does cause a lot of problems.

Something downstairs rattles, keys maybe and Ana finds herself shooting out of her seat, grabbing up Jax and a CD before bolting for it. John is in his doorway waiting for her when she makes it downstairs, a smile spreading over her face. “John!”

“Hi. Do you know you sound like a herd of elephants coming down the steps?” He asks without smiling but she hears the slight joking tone, though his eyes are roving over her body in concern. “Are you okay? You’re limping.”

“Fine, fine. Jax missed you. And I made you a late Christmas present. Did you know that it’s New Year’s Eve? Cause I didn’t ‘til Fre told me about an hour ago. Imagine that, starting a whole new year and having no idea.”

John looks a little pale at her last statement before clearing his throat, “Did you need something?”

She shoves Jax and the CD at him, “Jax you can borrow. The CD is to keep. It's sorta like a mixtape. It's some songs I think you should listen to.”

John takes the cat carefully from her before grabbing the CD, embarrassment overcoming his features. “What is it? You don’t like it? I mean I kind of knew you only listened to it because I made you-,” she starts, twisting her fingers together nervously.

“No! No, no, I-I just don’t have a CD player,” he says flustered. “I…uh, thanks.” Bucky isn't sure what he's feeling, that she cared about him enough, thought about him enough to make him a CD is not only surprising to him but half-way incomprehensible, unbelievable.

Ana’s frustrated with herself. Of course he didn’t have a CD player. Most modern people use MP3s or iPods or their  _phones._  “Sorry, I should have realized everyone isn’t like me. Anyways, Happy New Year," she says quickly before she can start babbling again.

She gets three feet before the weight of the cat and the CD, and the humanity and goodness that they represent, nearly crushes Bucky into the floor. Guilt and gratefulness twin in him and he calls out, “Ana?” She turns, “Will you spend New Year’s with me?”

Another year passing, alone and cold, is not a thought he can much bare at the moment.

“Yes,” she answers with only a little hesitation before she convinces herself that Katya and Fre will be fine and that John needs her more in this moment. Something in his face makes her think that he’s the loneliest person she’s ever met and that for some reason he didn’t know how to  _not_  be.

She straightens her spine as she takes him in, “But we’ll only speak Romanian.”

His mouth twitches, the beginning of that smile she’d been trying to tug out of him for months. “Da, desigur,” he murmurs. And then in English because he doesn’t know the Romanian word for examine he says, “Only if you’ll let me examine your leg. You’re limping.”

“Fine,” she mutters but smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> da, desigur- yes, of course


	6. Beginnings

It takes Bucky about fifteen minutes to carefully examine her ankle and wrap it. Then he makes her sit down and elevate it on the other chair. He has no ice and for the first time he’s a little upset about it. He finishes and sits back on the floor. “So, will you tell me what happened?” Bucky asks in Romanian, true to his word. “Another roof?”

She groans and sits back in the chair, “Something like that.” Ana looks around the apartment and frowns, “Decorate much?”

“No,” he shakes his head. Bucky starts to open his mouth and say more but he can’t exactly say that he can’t put down roots in case he needs to run and so he doesn’t say anything at all. “Is your leg okay?”

Ana smirks at him, “Fine. Did you used to be a nurse or something? You’re very concerned with my wellbeing.”

“A nurse..? No,” he looks away. Something itches at his brain. A woman in a bar, smiling at him.

_What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ in a place like this, darlin’?_

_Doin’ my part Sarge. I’m a nurse. Just servin’ the war effort._

_Well at least let me get you a drink-_

“John?” She’s staring at him again. “You got anything to drink?”

Bucky shakes his head as he nervously stokes Jax who has clambered into his lap, “I, uh, no. No. I-,” he cuts off again. He can’t exactly tell her that alcohol does virtually nothing for him and even if he could drink enough to get tipsy he wouldn’t. The idea of losing control of himself is not exactly the easiest thought or the greatest idea to him.

She just smiles and moves her feet before gesturing to the now empty chair, “Sit down then, the floor can’t be comfortable. I’m going to go get some champagne or wine or something…mmm we’ll see. Whatever I have up there.” She stuffs her foot back into her boot as Bucky gets to his feet carefully letting Jax jump away.

He hesitates for half a second before offering his arm to her, it feels both odd and familiar to be doing so. She glances at him in confusion before looking at his proffered arm, “Uhh…”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “I don’t want you to make your ankle worse.”

The smile that lights her face warms his heart a little and then a lot as she pushes her arm through his, “Well I do have shit to do so I probably shouldn’t make it worse.” So, Bucky carefully helps her up the stairs and waits quietly in the hall for her. The conversation that goes on inside the apartment is not one that he would care to repeat. Fre doesn’t trust him at all and has a lot to say about that fact as Katya snores through the whole thing. When Ana comes back into the hall laden with bottles of various types of alcohol her face is red and angry. “I’m sorry if you heard any of that,” she says. He nods and she says shyly, “Will you help me again?”

And even though she came down the stairs fine by herself earlier he takes two of the bottles from her and holds his arm out to her again.

 

~

 

“Fre doesn’t like me,” Bucky says later that evening as Ana lounges at his table having finally taken a breath from talking and talking and talking about one thing or the other, whatever came to mind. Bucky had let her smooth voice wash over him, soothing and oddly comforting. The chattering is strangely familiar.  

She shrugs and sips at her drink again as she defends her friend, “He just doesn’t trust you.” She smiles at him before making a show of side-eyeing him, “And can you honestly say you blame him? You’re a little suspicious.” He won’t deny that he does act sort of shady but that’s mostly due to his paranoia and he can’t much help it.  

But Bucky knows she’s right. He’s spent a lot of time, years, being a threat so maybe he just still smells like one to some people. “Do you trust me?” He asks, staring at his fingers, laced together and resting on the tabletop near where Jax sleeps in a tiny, curled ball. It’s important to him suddenly that she doesn’t see him as a danger. That she isn’t nice to him because she feels she’s under duress. But he remembers the way her lungs sound ragged when she feels threatened or upset and he doesn’t think that she is, afraid of him that is, or even distrustful.

“Do you trust  _me_?” She counters with a half-smile. “Can we go outside? I need to smoke.”

Bucky follows her out to the balcony through the small door, draping a coat around her shoulders, sensing that she won’t remember to grab one, before slipping into his own. She lights up and leans on the balustrade, looking down into the street where party goers swarm. “I would like to trust you. And you know you really shouldn’t smoke,” he reprimands gently.

“You want one?” Her eyes glitter as she offers the pack to him, smile large and teasing.

“Please,” he takes one and lights it, the action familiar though he thinks matches would be better. He’s still worried about her though. Tobacco smoke won’t really hurt his lungs, not with the serum anyways, but Ana…

For a while it’s silent but for the noise of the crowd in the street below. Ana sips her drink and inches slowly closer to him. She’s usually more discreet than that and so he knows she’s a little tipsy, if not a lot. “You don’t have anyone to trust,” she says, eyes slowly roving over to him. “I know what that’s like and I know it is a lonely existence. I have Fre now. And Katya most of the time. And sometimes I think maybe you but getting you to open up is like watching a flower bloom.”

“Time consuming and underwhelming?” He says without humor, in fact seems rather bitter.

She shakes her head slowly, flicking ash over the side of the railing, “Beautiful and rewarding. You’re getting there.” Bucky’s cheeks flush red at her praise and he’s glad for the darkness but, he doubts her assessment all the same. Ana takes another drag on her cigarette, smoke streaming out into the falling snow, “I’m deciding right now that I trust you. You’ve been here for five months and you’ve been nothing but a perfect tenant and a polite friend.” Seeming to also decide that she wants to have a conversation tonight rather than just babbling. She considers him a friend, what an odd notion.

“What if I’m just here to gain your trust?” He cringes internally even as he says it. Why?  _Why_  would he say something like that?  

Ana only shrugs, “Then so be it. Everything’s gone to shit again anyways.”

“What has?” He asks thinking of the conversation he overheard in the street the day he followed her.

She shakes her head and tosses her finished cigarette over the railing. “Not a chance, John.” She turns to him, “Not. A. Chance. You’ll have to get me a lot drunker.”

Bucky feels his mouth twitch with an almost smile as he exhales some smoke, “I thought you would be the type to go out on New Year’s.”

Ana is so close now that she makes him a little nervous. But it isn’t a bad nervous, more an anticipatory anxiousness. “No,” she says, “I know what you must think of me. Out at all hours. Loud. Weird. Irritating, I’m sure. I honestly don’t know how you sleep.” She shakes her head, “But I’m told that it’s  _all_  a defense mechanism.”

Her shoulder brushes his, “Is it?”

Snow drifts slowly down between them as she leans on the railing to look up at him, “Probably.”

“Something happen to you?”

“Something has happened to everyone,” she says, looking into his deep blue eyes. “You know that though.” He looks away and snuffs out his smoke before dropping it.

A long, deep, exhausted breath leaves him, “Yeah. I know.”

“Would you care to share?”

“Would  _you_?” He asks as she takes her bottom lip between her teeth, observing him with interest.

Another shrug, eyes warm hazel brown, “Maybe. But you still haven’t gotten me any more alcohol.” So Bucky takes her back into his kitchen and pours her wine. She gives him a look that says it’s not enough or strong enough.

“Pace yourself,” he says quietly.

She smiles softly up at him as he takes a seat at the table as well. “You are so strange. So kind and gentle with the world behind your eyes, as though you’ve seen it all, done it all. Shouldn’t that have kicked the kindness out of you? You hide here even though you’re still fighting.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything as he pours himself some whiskey, downing it all in one gulp. It won’t do anything for him but he savors the burn of it going down his throat all the same. “Shouldn’t it have kicked the kindness out of you? You hide too. You just have people to hide with.”

Her finger traces the rim of her glass as she stares at the table. “That’s true,” she whispers. Those eyes find his again, “But you don’t have people to hide with.”

“I used to,” he says softly. “And we didn’t have to hide.”

A bitter smile graces her face, one that isn’t familiar on her features, one that irks him, “I remember what that used to be like. But only just barely.”

It’s quiet again as Ana drinks and Bucky tries to think of something to say. Then she sighs deeply and smiles at him, “Enough of that mess. Let’s talk about something good. Hmmm...like music! What do you think about Kenny Loggins?”

“Who?”

“Oh, my God…” She shakes her head. “Seriously? Jesus John it’s like-,”

He shakes his head as the cat jumps into his lap, “I don’t know why you’re surprised-,”

“Because I feel like it’s my duty to educate you! You’re missing out on all the greats!” She bounces in her seat and starts naming artists as Bucky keeps an eye on her ankle. He thinks she needs to elevate it again but she’s on a roll with the artists. Her eyes light up as she names them and their songs, chatters about their careers and the tracks she likes the most.

He wants to smile, can feel it creeping up but then it slips away. His metal fingers carefully tangle in Jax's soft fur as he asks, “Do you play an instrument? Sing?”

She stops, eyes a bit unfocused from the alcohol, “I…what would make you ask that?”

“You’re happy when you talk about it. I just thought…n-never mind-,” he falters, worried he’s crossed some sort of boundary.

Her hand presses over his flesh hand and once again he freezes, his heart seems to stutter to a halt in his chest, “It’s okay. I used to play. The piano that is. Um, and sing terribly.” She smiles and takes her hand away and Bucky seems to come back to life, heart racing. But he wants it back. That warm skin against his if only because he craves the contact.

He realizes a little belatedly that he’s just been staring at her hand where it had come to rest against the table, “Uh, I, um, the piano?”

“Used to,” she says, a small smile on her face. “With my dad.”

“In the Ukraine?” He asks and then clenches his eyes shut. Goddammit-

She’s shocked and suddenly very pale, “How-how did you guess?” Ana’s leg jitters against the floor, bouncing restlessly.

He clears his throat, “I didn’t mean to upset you. Uh, I guessed a…while back…” he finishes lamely.

“So you know where I’m from. Where are you from?”

Bucky looks up and meets her eyes, “I’m…not really sure.” He knows that Brooklyn is the right answer but he’s still not sure where his home  _lies_. Sometimes geography doesn’t matter. Sometimes it’s just a feeling. “I don’t know,” he admits as he looks away again. Bucky can’t very well admit he isn’t a person most days let alone a person with a home.

Her hand lands on his again, as if she understands, as if she cares. “I’m sorry,” she whispers as a cheer goes up outside. “Welcome to 2015. I hope you find your way home.”

Ana, Bucky thinks, has no idea what she’s just said or what it means to him.     


	7. Friends

Bucky is walking down the hall to Ana’s apartment, bag of cat food that he promised to pick up in his hands, when he hears it.

“Well I don’t know if this sword is in a condition that I’m willing to accept.” He comes to a halt in the hall and squeezes his eyes shut. Either she’s looking at actual swords or Ana is being… _courted_ …with the door to apartment open, letting all the warm air swarm out into the cold hall. Knowing Ana it could honestly be either. He starts to turn away deciding that whatever’s happening, he doesn’t really want to know either way. The cat food weighs on his hand however and he convinces himself that he just doesn’t have the context for the statement he just heard.

So, against better judgement and in part due to the way his stomach tightened at the thought of Ana alone with an unfamiliar man, he turns again and makes his way to her open doorway. Jax sits on the kitchen counter just inside the door and mewls helplessly and almost exasperatedly at Bucky.

Ana stands by the kitchen table, indeed examining a sword. A man in a fur cap stands by, watching Ana look over the broadsword with a mix of amusement and irritation on his face. “Well?”

Bucky shuts the door behind him, muscles stiffening, body coiling, preparing for a fight, uncomfortable at being in an enclosed space with an unfamiliar person. But he’ll be dammed if he leaves Ana alone with this man. The cat food meets the counter with a thud before he moves to her side, angling himself so that the completely clothed metal arm is between them and the man. Ana smiles at him, large and toothy before pointing the sword into the man’s face. “I’ll have to have it inspected for authenticity but I think this will do nicely until you can secure the money.”

The man’s eyes flick to Bucky, scanning him before he looks back to Ana and jerks his chin at him. “Yours?”

“Personal cat food picker upper,” she beams, not giving the man an inch.

He shakes his head, “Bit of advice, Ana: stop picking up strays. They’ll get you killed or worse.” Cold gray eyes flick over him again as the man’s lip curls, disgust pouring off him. The sword is dropped away from his face and back into a sheath, metal grating.

Tension suddenly hangs thick in the room, Ana’s gaze hard and cold. “You’d do best to get used to him. We like each other you know.” It goes unspoken but Bucky hears it, whispering in between her words. He’s here to stay and he’s protective.

The man glances between the two of them and then the blade still in her grasp before rolling on the balls of his feet and bouncing lightly, eyes suddenly downcast. “Ah, well, I’ll let the others know to keep that in mind.”

“That would be for the best,” She says as she curls the fingers of her hand not holding the sword in the crook of Bucky’s right elbow. Ana doesn’t usually touch him, had only done so on New Year’s Eve when she had been tipsy, the mood calm and settled. He relaxes into her touch and glowers at the man, why the door had been open despite the intense cold now clear.

It’s silent for a few seconds as the man takes in Bucky, his stance, his intense expression, and his bulk. “Thanks again, for the reprieve,” he gives a small incline of his head before he turns and pulls the door open. When he’s gone Ana releases his elbow and sighs.

He turns to her, a question in his eyes, but she just turns away. Bruises dot the once smooth pale plains of her forearms, exposed by her sleeves rolled to her elbows. Mottled blue, green, and gray mixing with the angry crimson of the scratches there. She’s limping worse than ever and two days ago Bucky had had to wrap her ribs for her after carefully making sure that they weren’t broken or fractured. And boy hadn’t  _that_  been an experience. Kneeling on the floor in front of her couch as she sat up and hissed as his fingers danced across her sore middle. Katya standing behind him, alternating between berating Ana for being so stupid to have gotten hurt and rudely and loudly asking Bucky why he always wore a glove on his left hand. Which had then set Ana off on a tangent against Katya about:  _You leave him alone! Haven’t you ever heard of boundaries or politeness?_ Bucky had wondered through the whole thing how on earth he had ended up there.

Now her breaths still sort of hitch awkwardly around the pain that lingers. He takes a second to listen to her breathing pattern now, to make sure it’s nothing worse than bruised ribs, that he hadn't missed something before. The brush of his fingertips against the warm skin of her ribcage as he had felt out any discomfort suddenly flits to the front of his mind. Smooth and warm but purple and pained. Ana settling the tea kettle onto a burner of the stove brings him away from those thoughts. “Thanks for the cat food, pal. Could you give Jaxy some? He’s been fussy and he’s hungry so it’s worse.” As if in response Jax meows loudly at her. She rolls her eyes, “And he misses you when you’re gone for more than five minutes.”

For a second he thinks about asking her about the man and the strange encounter that had just occurred. Instead he scoops up Jax to cradle to his chest, trying to work open the bag onehanded. Jax settles against Bucky as he begins to purr loudly and happily, vibrations streaming though Bucky’s chest, warming and calming him. Any attempt at asking Ana about her injuries or activities led to either silence, dumb jokes, or a music lecture, all depending on what sort of mood she happened to be in that day. He decides not to bother right now, not quite prepared for the bullshit sure to start spewing.

He pours the food into the cat’s bowl and then sets Jax down. But when Bucky attempts to move away Jax cries and follows him. So, he resorts to sitting on the floor next to the small and loving but needy cat.

Ana putters around the kitchen, cleaning up the minor mess on the counter as she sings under her breath, off-key and low. After a time she stops and Bucky momentarily mourns the loss of her voice before she asks, “So, John how are things? Good? Pretty good? Alright?”

A deep sigh slips past his lips before he closes his eyes and asks, “Who was that?”

“Business partner,” she says, grinning wickedly down at him.

He rolls his eyes before threading his gloved fingers of his left hand through Jax’s fur. “Sure thing.”

The kettle starts to howl as she asks, “Why do you care, dearest John? It’s my problem, not yours.”  

“Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Why won’t you let me help  _you_?”

Bucky groans, exasperated, “I  _can’t_  let you.” It slips out without him thinking about it and he freezes. Ana sits next to him on the floor, eyes wide, as she carefully hands him a cup of steaming mint tea.

“Can’t huh? That sounds serious,” she says, leaning toward him. “Maybe I’ll tell you, if you tell me.”

He stares at her and shakes his head, “You already seem to be in a fair amount of danger.”

The nervous shiver that traces her spine makes him wish more than ever that he hadn’t said anything. “So you’re dangerous?” He likes her, has become accustomed to her oddness and her presence and so he really does not want to chase her away, feel that bone-deep loneliness again. But…he can’t lie to her either. It wouldn’t be fair.

“Yes.”

Silence settles between them for a moment and Bucky senses a shift in her, a determination as she looks up and meets his eyes, “I am surrounded by the dangerous, always have been, or at least from when I was very young. Young enough to not really remember the alternative. But you don’t feel that way to me. Fre says you do. Katya says you half do. I say you don’t. Maybe you are but you’re my friend either way.”

“Tell me,” he says, voice half-desperate with the need to protect one of the only people in the city he knows and cares about. “Please.”

She shakes her head sadly, “If I start talking, if I open  _that_  can of worms. I’ll never stop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wanted to put a warning here about the next chapter. It's heavily focused on non-con/rape and violence. So, obviously, if these are things you would rather not read about please skip the next chapter. I'll have a warning at the top of the next chapter as well in case anyone forgets.


	8. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised: a warning.  
> This chapter contains rape/non-con and violence.

One light flickers at the end of a long corridor, sputtering and guttering but illuminating the space all the same. The hall is long and bleak, gray and concrete and steel, cold and wet and unloving. He knows what lies at the end of that hall, knows the horror that awaits him. Something niggles at the back of his mind. This isn’t right, this isn’t…where he’s supposed to be. But where else would he go? Where else could he have to be? Nowhere, he thinks. The soldier belongs here.

_Bucky._

That’s him. Or it used to be.

The name slips away again.

The light at the end of the hall buzzes with electricity, grating on his ears, sounding like something else, something unpleasant and horrible. There’s something he’s supposed to be doing. All he can do is walk forward. He doesn’t dare turn around. He stops at the first door on his right, glancing himself in the reflective material of the glass panel. The sight that meets him isn’t familiar but he knows that it’s him, in full tac gear, masked with long bits of hair blowing into his face. The goggles are missing but he can’t make himself meet his own eyes.

There’s movement behind the door and the soldier squints, trying to see past the glare on the glass. He doesn’t have any weapons (they always strip him as soon as he gets back from missions) but his body will be more than enough.  _Mission_ , the word picks at his brain, something about a  _mission_. Almost of its own accord his hand reaches out and twists the doorknob. It swings open easily to reveal a familiar room. He turns. He knows this hallway. He looks at the room again. He knows this room. But the room and the hallway together…well that didn’t make sense. This room and that hallway were countries apart. But now they rest together as if someone had picked them up and stitched them together. 

He steps cautiously into the room, his body tensing. Maybe he can’t remember exactly what happens in this room but his body does. Lights flicker on revealing the scene before him and it all comes back. Five men are in the room, cigarette smoke and the smell of sour alcohol permeates without, combined with the sounds of laughter and talking and the sickening slap of skin on skin.

The boy (because that’s what he had been, a young boy especially compared with his experiences now) simply takes it. The soldier watches his previous self, his body limp and pliant, no sound escaping him. He still has short hair and the shoulder where his arm should be is swollen with infection, one the soldier knows will not be tended to for weeks.

His right hand is stretched in front of him, rope looped around it, the other end tied to the bed post as he grips it, nails leaving gouges in the metal. The room is cold and mostly rough stone, the only furniture the bed and a table for the officers to sit their booze and cigarettes on. The boy’s ass is in the air, his face pressed into the dirty mattress, pants shoved down around his thighs. The soldier remembers the pain, the humiliation, and the great big, fat crocodile tears that had rolled down his face. Because it fucking  _hurt_  and it was embarrassing and awful.

The soldier looks away as the officer’s hand comes down to wrap around the boy’s neck and squeeze, forcing him to choke for air. The soldier's own neck prickles uncomfortably. He focuses on the other four instead, waiting for their turn with the pretty American boy (who if you squinted, really, really  _squinted,_  with his fine features and thin body thanks to their unreliable feeding processes, could almost pass for a decent woman,  _almost),_  their new toy, their new weapon in training. And training, well, sometimes, it requires breaking. The others are talking casually about their wives and how they miss them as though a heinous crime isn’t happening right in front of them, as though they themselves won’t partake in it at some point during the long Russian night.  

 _He stopped fighting easier this time. I think he may be catching on,_ One says.

 _Yes, well, of course, eventually he’ll see there isn’t a point at all,_ The other says.

 _I prefer them with a bit of fight,_ Admits a third. The others chuckle.

The choking stops as the boy gasps for air in earnest so the soldier turns and kneels next to him. It’s obvious that the officers can’t see him or he too would be on his knees. Only now,  _now,_  the soldier can fight. Of course if they have the words-

His blood runs cold as he comes face to face with his former self. His eyes are emotionless and blank, his neck ringed with bruises and red crescents from prying nails. The corners of his mouth are wet and slicked and the soldier knows that the boy has been through hell tonight. At least, one version of this endless, spiraling circle of hell. The officer’s thrusts speed up, the boy shoved up the bed with every brutal hit until it abruptly stops. A groan echoes in the small room before the officer pulls back and does up his pants looking blissed out of his mind.

 _He certainly does the job. Stress relief you know,_ He jokes. There is more laughter and when the soldier looks back to the boy’s face, it’s determined. The boy renews his struggle for freedom, squirming and kicking backwards. But his body is weak and exhausted and malnourished, riddled with infection. The sound of the next man’s pants being undone sets a panic in the boy that the soldier knows is pointless. The soldier watches the boy known as James Buchanan Barnes fight with all he has which is not that much until-

A hand fists in his hair and jerks his head back, stilling the boy’s movements. The soldier notices the boy’s hand, wrist rubbed raw against the rope, nails cracked and ripped and bleeding, evidence of his effort to free himself here and from his cell. He never stopped fighting, the soldier thinks, ever. Even when doing so might have been easier. The officer’s other hand goes to the boy’s hip as he roughly shoves into him without preamble.

 _You’ll behave yourself, boy. Or you’ll have it worse. And I would hate to ruin such a pretty face._ A sharp slap lands on his cheek before fingers are stuffed in his mouth.

The thrusts begin again and so do the tears. It didn't matter how many times it happened, the tears still came and the pain always followed.

The soldier turns away but not before patting his past-self’s shoulder gently. He knows he cannot change the past. It happened and so it will always happen.

Back in the hallway he skips the other door. The soldier…he isn’t fond of remembering these things. There are things he wants to remember but, not this. He’s nearly to the door at the end of the hall, the door he thinks he’s meant to go in, when a blood curdling scream rips through the air. High and feminine and  _in pain_.

He lunges forward, toward the scream. He recognizes the voice but at the same time he doesn’t. Bursting into the room reveals another room he knows very well. Clean, white, stark. Tools and medical equipment and that metal table and that harsh, harsh lighting. Two men stand in the center of the room, their uniforms vaguely familiar. They hold a woman on her knees by her shoulders between them who is breathing with difficulty. Each inhale and exhale causing her extreme pain. Her head is bowed, dark ringlets falling into her face. Dark ringlets…he remembers that head of hair disappearing into the snow ahead of him as he hid in a doorway. She met someone-

  
“Soldier,” says one of the men.

“Look at what you’ve done,” the other says, smirking at him and then down at the woman.

Bucky is suddenly very aware of what is happening. That is Ana. His neighbor, his friend, his- He jerks his head in a sharp shake. No. He would not do this to her. But he can’t remember. He had a mission he thinks, before he ended up in the hallway. Maybe Ana is the mission.

“But you didn’t finish your mission soldier. Just like you failed Captain America.” The man’s head tilts to the side, “Maybe because you care about them? But they are afraid of you.” A hand fists in Ana’s hair to jerk her head back. One eye is swollen shut and both cheek bones are broken, more like crushed. She’s barely recognizable but when her eyes light on him she flails in fear.

The voice that escapes her mouth is broken and defeated and terrified, nothing like the Ana he knows. Her arms hang at nauseating angles, bruises coating her body like a twisted form of paint. “Please, please, please don’t let him hurt me again. I’ll do any-anything. P-please.  _God, please,_ ” she begs the men holding her. Her voice rises into hysteria as one man pulls a knife and rests it against her throat.

“You do it or we do. Do you want to finish the mission solider? Pierce won’t be happy if you let us do all the work for you.”

In his hand is a gun. He doesn’t know where it’s come from but it doesn’t matter because he  _always_  finishes the mission.  

She closes her eyes, “Please Bucky.” His name. She wasn’t supposed to know his name. His eyes widen, his hand shakes. “Please kill me, Bucky. I’m in such pain.” He thinks, yes, that this is better if he does it. He’ll never be able to hurt her again.

He levels the gun before bringing it to his own temple. The trigger is all too easy to squeeze. Because if  _he's_  gone, well, he won't be able to hurt  _anyone_  ever again.

 

~

 

Bucky jolts upright in bed. The mattress, himself, and his clothes are sticky with sweat. Nausea flares hard in his stomach and he barely makes it to the bathroom to empty his stomach as images from the nightmare flit through his scrambled mind. Some of it was real blending into something equally as terrifying. He stills suddenly. It’s quiet. And although Ana has been quiet lately it unnerves him.

The next thing he knows he’s outside her door. He knocks and waits and then knocks louder when the first yields nothing. Sleepy footsteps sound on the hardwood floors, joints crack as she stretches to looks through her peephole. The door creaks slowly open to show Ana rubbing one fist on her eye and yawning. “John? You okay?”

Then she really looks at him and worry settles into her features. “Hey what the hell? Why’re you all-,” She gestures at him.

“Can I come in?”

She looks shocked but moves aside all the same, “Yeah.” He stands awkwardly inside the door as Ana asks, “Tea?” He shakes his head and watches her body carefully, seemingly in no more pain than she usually is with her myriad of injuries. A frown creases her forehead, “Are you staying?”

Wide eyes meet hers, startled and panicked, “I, uh, no-,”

“You know when I get nightmares I don’t like to be alone either. It’s awful. It feels like you’re on the sea, floating alone in the dark. That’s why I have the dogs. They come when I need them.” She sticks her hand out to him but Bucky doesn’t take it. She rolls her eyes, “Fine. Follow me.” When she starts to head toward her bedroom he stops. “John, c’mon, I don’t bite…..Often.” She grins at her own joke and he relaxes. This is normal, this is good. He follows her carefully, afraid he's doing something wrong. Her bedroom is small and warm and dark, the furniture wooden and well used.

A blanket is spread on the floor, then another, and still another after that. Pillows are dropped next. “I would offer a place on the bed but I doubt you’d take it and I don’t like people in my bed. Lie down,” she commands and Bucky does, not sure what else to do. He hesitates for half a second as the memories from the nightmare threaten to overwhelm him but then he does deciding to trust her. A CD goes in the player and soft, quiet music fills the room as she flings another blanket over his body and turns up the heat just a little more.

Then she leaves. He hears her balcony door open and a whistle before she comes back, nails clicking on the floor alongside her. The dog is large and imposing but wags her tail when she sees Bucky. The Great Dane unceremoniously dumps herself beside Bucky, snuggling close. He feels better as his skin becomes tacky with dried sweat, heart rate lowering, breathing evening out. Ana launches herself over them and settles in bed before peaking over the side and offering her hand again.

This time he takes it. Warm, present, unharmed. “Everything is better with a dog and a friend,” she says before situating herself at the edge of the bed. “It’s safe here. You can sleep.”

He can’t help but drift off, the feeling of safety overcoming him much quicker than usual. Much quicker and completely. A sensation he hasn’t felt in decades. He feels safe lying on Ana's floor, safe with her hand in his.

Before he can drop off completely he asks, "What's her name?" His other hand threads through the dog’s soft fur, his dream and past seemingly so far away all of the sudden.

"Snipe," she says and Bucky has to laugh a little, clutching her hand. Just before he drops off he swears he feels her other hand stroke a feather light touch to his hair and the muttered mantra of 'strange, strange, strange' leaving her lips. Its affectionate and what sends him into a peaceful sleep.

Ana’s hand does not leave his for the duration of the night.


	9. Why

When Bucky wakes the next morning both the dog and Ana are gone but he doesn’t worry because the usual early morning racket is occurring in the kitchen. Shouting and arguing and the sound of something cooking on the stove. The floor is still warm next to him and he can only assume that Snipe had only gotten up moments ago. Probably drawn to the kitchen by the smell of fried food and the heated chattering.

Bucky groans and sits up, head in his hands. Why,  _why_  had he come down here last night? He knows why of course. Human contact, Ana, the warmer apartment. God, the  _cats_  maybe. Anything alive and warm he could get close to, to drive away the nightmare, the past, the horror. Now it’s morning and sun streams in the window, faintly warm against his skin. With a wench of his gut he realizes he’s disappointed. Disappointed that Ana had not still been next to him when he woke. Bucky gets up with that thought, irritated with himself, and carefully folds the blankets he had been using, stacking them at the end of the bed before putting the pillows near the head of the bed. Ana didn’t make her bed and so he leaves it like that, not wanting to cross some boundary or be invasive in any way. She had, after all, trusted him enough to invite him into her space.

In the kitchen, Ana is at the stove happily keeping watch over some crackling food while Fre and Katya stand behind her arguing. They both freeze when they see Bucky and he realizes that they probably didn’t know he was there. Katya and Fre whirl, “You let  _him_ -,”

“-didn’t even tell us-,”

“-how dare you-,”

“-I thought he was not-,”

“Hush! Leave him alone. Come here John,” Ana beckons him. He follows her directive, passing by Fre, who stiffens and glares at him. “We’re- _I’m_  making some American style breakfast. Eggs, and bacon and pancakes and toast and more other kinds of eggs and coffee and- uh, maybe that’s it? Oh, and I managed to scrounge up some really good fruit in exchange for one day with a famous sword.”

Fre chokes on his orange juice, “You lent out the sword?”

“Rented it out. He paid me in fruit. That means I rented it.”

Fre rolls his eyes so hard that Bucky’s surprised they stay in his head. Delicate fingers dart out and catch at his sleeve when he’s moved close enough. She pulls him closer to her side, instructing him to watch the bacon. “It’s very important that I get this right,” she says lowly as the other two pick up their previous argument, a toothy smile on her face.

“Why?” he asks, prodding the bacon a bit while reveling in the homey sizzling it inspires.

She grins at him, “It’s for you.”

The shock that overcomes his features is involuntary, slipping past his mask of usual emotionlessness. “ _Me_?”

For the life of him he can’t imagine why she would bother, what might have possessed her to do such a thing. When she smiles this time its soft, almost gentle, and very unlike her usually brash nature. “Well, the thing is John, you’ve been helping me a lot lately with the cats and the cat food and the free medical advice and nurse-ly qualities. And you sounded pretty rough last night and so I wanted to do something nice. So…American breakfast.”

Silence settles between them as Ana begins slicing up some fruit. Its haphazard at best, the bits of fruit all different sizes. “I had a nightmare.”

“Yes,” she agrees. The grease pops in the pan, quiet and soothing and familiar.

Ana takes in the planes of his face, once more blank and expressionless. “It was…from a time I would rather forget. But I think it’s important too.”

The knife lands on the counter as she sneaks closer again, “I’ll tell you a secret John. Remembering bad things is tough but it must be done. If only to save ourselves the heartache of it creeping up on us later.”

His hand is frozen on the handle of the skillet. What possessed him to say those things to her he couldn’t say. Trust, he thinks, he trusts her. Despite everything about her, he trusts her. “I want to remember,” he finds himself admitting much to his own horror. God, that’s  _too_   _much_ , this is all too  _much_. They’re shoulder to shoulder now, so close that they could touch. She doesn’t close the gap however but waits. Gently he allows his shoulder to brush into hers, spurring her to lean into him just a fraction. It isn’t much but in that moment it’s enough and the world becomes just a tiny bit more manageable.

When breakfast is finished he helps Katya set the table. She flirts with him the entire time and he politely declines her advances in a way he thinks would make his Ma proud. The rejection, he thinks, gives Katya a thrill. She’s probably never been denied in her life, maybe just the opposite. So, they all sit down to breakfast together and Ana even forces Fre to be nice to him for a while. Bucky doesn’t much mind Fre’s hostility but the break is nice.

Snipe, the large gray Great Dane, stays near his side as Jax plants himself firmly in his lap. He just catches Ana’s smile, fond and that strange gentleness. He mostly stays quiet as the other three chat and laugh. Another smile threatens to creep up on him as he observes them, their closeness and companionship. For once it doesn’t make him feel lonely because even if he might not be participating actively, he is included.

It almost feels like a family.

 

~

 

Ana paces the floor as Fre sorts through their gathered information. Information that simply isn’t enough. “We aren’t large enough,” he admits with a sigh, leaning back into the couch. “We’ve got too many people and not enough muscle. Between that and you provoking people left and right everything’s pretty much gone to shit.” He pauses before cautiously suggesting, “Maybe its time to call the agency?”

“You know they don’t really care. They might shut the whole thing down.”

Fre suddenly stands, anger rolling off him in thick waves, “You getting yourself killed over a battle that has nothing to do with you is reason enough for me to consider going to them.”

The apartment suddenly hangs silent, tension brewing, disagreement thick in the air, “You know why this is so important to me.”

Fists clench, feet shift, tempers start to flare as Fre says, “The people who did those things to you are  _dead_ , Ana.”

“But these people aren’t and they’re doing the same things. Am I supposed to just look the other way?”

“No, of course not, but-,”

“But nothing! The same thing is happening again, it happens all the time, and I-I-I-,” her breath hitches in her throat.  _No_ , she thinks, not now. She sucks in a deep breath and attempts to regulate her breathing and racing mind.

A gentle hand on her shoulder and then arms wrapping around her ground her, make it a little easier to breathe. Then the door opens, revealing John, who looks shocked at the scene before him. Ana doesn’t miss the way his fists clench open and closed, his jaw tightening.

He tugs his cap lower over this ears, mumbling out a quiet, “Sorry,” before turning away.

“John, hey, hold on a second,” Ana calls, pulling away from Fre who rolls his eyes.

Before she can move away from him, Fre says, “This is what I’m talking about Ana! You claim to want to help people and stop bad things but you let others in so easily. You refuse to see the threat standing right in front of you!” He near shouts, waving a casual hand in John’s direction.

Ana tenses, “You know damn well I don’t do that! I haven’t let people in easily  _ever_! I don’t trust anyone!”

“You certainly let the first nice guy to come along slip under the radar. Who’s to say he isn’t one of them? You don’t even know his real name,” he seethes, tired of Ana’s blatant disregard of his warnings.

When Ana doesn’t say anything or look up from the floor Fre starts to step forward, reaching out, to hug his best friend, apologize and make her see that he’s just trying to protect her. Fre, however is met with a broad chest. Ana looks surprised as a panicked John suddenly stands in front of her, breathing hard, “Do not touch her.”

Fre stares at John and then at Ana, peaking around his broad frame. “Are you fucking serious?” He mutters to Ana in Arabic. John just tenses more with the sound of an unfamiliar language in his ears. Ana presses a gentle hand to his right shoulder before jerking her head at Fre, mouthing that she’d see him later. Fre rolls his eyes again but goes, John’s eyes following him the whole time.

“So, hey what the hell?” she asks when the door slams shut.

A tired breath leaves him as he turns, her hand sliding away from his shoulder, “I thought he was going to grab you, hurt you. I should have realized….realized that he wouldn’t do that to you. I’m sorry.”

“No need, no need,” she herds him toward the couch where his eyes rove over their forgotten research. “You might as well take a look,” she says, hands on her hips. John doesn’t pick up any of the papers but rather just gives her a significant look. “Figured it out already, have you?”

He shrugs, “Not really. Just an idea. You’re good at hiding.” She settles next to him on the couch, tucking her feet beneath her while giving him a significant look. “I, uh, followed you a few times.”

Shock settles onto her features before she reigns herself in, “You must be good. Who’d you work for?” He just stares at her, “Oh, come now John. Let’s not pretend anymore.”

“You don’t want to know,” he shakes his head as he threads his fingers together, hunching forward. “You really don’t wanna know.”

She makes a gentle noise of sympathy, “Bad people?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “Very bad.”

“And so naturally you are also bad. As well as dangerous.”

“Yes,” he agrees.

Blue eyes dart over to hers, trying to assess if she’s afraid. She just smirks at him, “Don’t believe you, Johnny. Maybe you worked for the bad guys,  _maybe_ , but  _you_  aren’t bad. What sort of bad person picks up cat food and wraps my ribs and willingly listens to bad music? What sort of bad person protects someone from a person that means no harm in the first place?”

He shakes his head, “You have no-,”

“Idea? Yeah, no, you got me there pal. I don’t. But you’ll just have to deal with it because from my thorough observations, you aren’t a bad guy. Lonely and confused and quiet but, not bad.” She bounces in her seat and looks back to the papers on the table, “I’d appreciate fresh eyes on this. If you’d like to take a look?”

She watches as he carefully starts sorting through the papers. Gentle worn hands. Red, pretty mouth. Soft, dark hair. Hard, determined features, as though he’s sure she’s doing something good and this is his chance to help right some perceived wrong. She hadn’t really noticed before but now she does, the man before her is beautiful. After a few minutes of quiet reading and scanning he looks back to her, “A prostitution ring?” He glances back down, “Spanning…four countries?”

“Yeah, man, I know. And it’s just me and Fre on this, at least officially, and….and-and he’s ready to give up. Let someone else do it. But I’m not-not ready to give up.” She’s aware her voice is unsure and shaky but she can’t really bring herself to care, not afraid to be a little vulnerable in front of John.

He shakes his head and continues shuffling through the papers, “No,” he agrees. “You don’t seem like the ‘give up and let someone else do it’ type.” Her eyes wander over his face again as he turns to her, “For two people you’ve done a lot.”

Guilt settles like a rock in the pit of her stomach, “It’s still not enough.” Her cracked and bloodied but healing hands reach out to pick up some of the people’s pictures, to run over their faces, “But you’re right. We did well enough to get their attention. In retaliation they’ve started killing and taking more to make up for the loss.” She holds a picture out to John, “Mostly girls you know? Easier to control. But there are a few guys. That we know of, of course. We could be way off in our estimation. And we only have the identities of a fraction of that.”

“I’ll help you,” is his immediate response before he backtracks. “If y-you want help, if you’re allowed to share-,”

“John?” He stops chattering and meets her eyes, “I would love to have your help. And besides, I’ve never been one for following rules.” She winks at him and he stares. Pretending to look through the files again, she thinks he looks like he’s making some important internal decision.

He swallows thickly before settling the papers in his lap to turn back to her, “I want to tell you my name.”

His name, she thinks, something he’s kept very closely guarded. “You don’t, uh, you don’t have to. I know it’s something that’s-,”

“James,” he forces out, quick and all in one short breath. He looks like he wants to say more for a second but then he snaps his mouth closed and doesn’t say anything else.

A fond smile finds its way onto her face, “James suites you much better than John, I think. But…there’s still something missing. It’s not quite right is it? What’s your nickname? Jay? Jamie? Jim? Jimmy? Lord Voldemort?”

How the hell she could tell he didn’t go by James he’ll never know, “God no. And I don’t understand that last reference.”

“Oh, c’mon! You haven’t seen Harry Potter? Why am I not surprised?” She sighs and shrugs, “I’ll just alternate nick names then.” There’s a pause where their knees brush together, shoulders bump together before she says, gently, trying the name out on her lips, “James.” The shape of the name feels good in her mouth, like it fits, like it belongs there. “James,” she sighs once more, just to have his name rest there.

 

~

 

Later that night, having talked with Ana for several hours about everything to do with her cases and such he lies wide awake. He listens to Ana and Fre argue again, heatedly about going to some entity that they only referred to as the ‘agency’. He wishes that they would stop shouting and that Ana would put on some soft music. In truth he wishes he were back on her bedroom floor. When the shouting stops, no music comes on, only silence prevails throughout, her sadness and frustration seemingly dripping through the floorboards to his apartment. He remembers her mouth and way her lips had looked with his name on them, how it had been such a soft caress that he had barely contained the pleasured shiver that traced his spine. James, he thinks, maybe one day he could hear her say  _Bucky_.

But no, that’s too close to the truth. Too close to shattering his illusion of familiarity, of comfort, of safety here in this small Romanian apartment. A small mewl suddenly sounds from outside his balcony door. Puff, he thinks. The fat, lovable cat had figured out where Bucky’s apartment is and that he wouldn’t kick her out of bed like Ana would. As soon as the door is open she darts in and makes her home on his bed. Directly in the center of it. He sighs and shakes his head before climbing in bed with the now heavily purring, warm cat. He doesn’t move her, only curls his body around her chosen space.

 _James_. Her voice floats through his mind again as he drifts off. Ana, he thinks, is his chance to do good again. By her and in part in reparations for his past transgressions. It isn’t enough, nothing ever will be, but it’s a start.


	10. Promise

“Hi, this is my friend with little to no name,” Ana introduces Bucky to a large man standing in a doorway hidden in the wall of a shady alley. Snowmelt drips off the overhang directly onto Bucky’s head but he doesn’t dare move, cringing internally at Ana’s introduction. The man is broad and hefty, a mean scowl in place as Ana stares up into his face, bright smile lighting her features. Bucky thinks it’s a miracle she’s still alive. Every person that they had visited today she’s actively provoked. Actually no, thinking back on the last three months that he'd been helping her, he  _knows_  it’s a miracle she’s alive. He isn’t concerned for himself, no, he knows the man wouldn’t be a problem if he tried but  _Ana_ …

The man grunts and crosses his thick arms as he towers over both of them, quite the feat considering they were both rather tall themselves, “I need his name. Full.” He only addresses Ana, not even glancing at Bucky.

“Angelina Jolie.”

His head tips back as he lets out one solitary, sarcastic, “Ha.” There’s a pause as Ana just keeps smiling and Bucky prepares to grab her and run. “You do not amuse me.” His bald head gleams as he leans forward, stroking one hand down an auburn beard.

Slush falls off the roof, narrowly avoiding all three of them, to splat onto the ground. Ana stares at the man for a few seconds before she shuffles closer which makes Bucky want to hook his fingers in the hood of her coat and reel her back to him. “You know why I keep coming to you, Erik?” Erik doesn’t move a muscle, one silver stud in his ear shining, “It’s your good humor and capacity for understanding.”

The corner of Erik’s mouth quirks under his beard and Bucky knows Ana suddenly has him hooked, claws now sunk deep she asks, “How’s your wife?”

A grunt leaves Erik as he looks away from her, “Okay. Better when you deliver what I asked for.”

She raises her hands around her shoulders, “The sword is on its merry way, I promise.” More cold water drips onto the back of Bucky’s neck and he thinks he might hate spring more than he hates winter. “Ol’ Dalca won’t know what hit him. He’s going to default we’ve made sure of it. I hope Christine feels well soon.”

Another grunt, a thick eyebrow raised, “I suppose…as an early show of gratitude I could…help Angelina Jolie.” Erik’s gaze slides over Bucky and he does his best to look meek, unassuming, and nonthreatening. He’s been doing that a lot lately as everyone Ana sees on a regular basis are hostile and take Bucky as a threat.

“We would forever be grateful,” she says with a bow. “He’s in desperate need of papers. People are checking up on our building now…what with our activities.” Indeed unfamiliar people have been roaming around their building. Ana tells him they're on Vlad's payroll. All of them however have left Bucky alone so far but one can never be sure how long such things will last.

The beastly man suddenly brightens, shifting from pissed off butcher to friendly bear in seconds, “He is helping with your cause?”

“Oh yes!”

A real laugh suddenly booms out of Erik before he pulls Ana into his chest, cradling her in a way that makes her look like a rag doll. Her eyes tell Bucky not to intervene and he wonders where she learned how to play people just right. “Why didn’t you say so? Any person helping with such a thing is always welcome here.” He lets Ana go who had been turning a bright plum color to hold her at arm’s length, large hands clasped on either of her biceps, “You returned my daughter to me. If he helps return other daughters to fathers he too is welcome.”

“Great,” she chokes out as she rubs her ribs. Heat flares in Bucky’s chest as he remembers her injured torso. She shouldn’t have let Erik handle her in such a way, he should have said something. Guilt twists hard in his chest even though he knows there’s no reason for it. Ana gives him a questioning look as her coloring returns to normal but he just ignores her. “We need them to be excellent. Very authentic.”

Erik motions them to follow before turning and disappearing from the doorway. Ana follows first before Bucky can insist on her not doing so. In the dark hallway that is what lies behind the door he hears Erik ask, “So, he has no name?”

“He has half of one but it’s closely guarded,” Ana answers as they shuffle forward in the dark.

“And I take it you know it,  _înger_?”

Pride coats her voice as she admits, “I know half of it.”

“Quite good,  _mic_   _miracol_ ,” Erik says as they reach a room and light flares. Bucky blinks furiously in the sudden light, finding himself under intense observation. And indeed, the man is actually a butcher. The smell of blood and death hangs heavy in the back room they find themselves in, meat hooks dangling from the ceiling. He looks away, trying not to breathe too deeply, trying to control his nausea and the darkness pressing in on his brain. “Can he not speak?” Erik questions Ana.

Ana has her hands clasped behind her back as she smiles and rolls onto the balls of her feet, “He is shy.”

Erik nods and gets to work.

 

~

 

Several hours later Ana and Bucky find themselves at a small café in the more touristy part of the city. They drink overpriced coffee as they wait for Katya to arrive.

In the three months since Bucky had offered to help Ana carry her cross they’ve all gotten a lot closer. And Ana shows her appreciation and friendship in odd ways as always, like leaving him small trinkets outside his door, or complimenting parts of his body or things in his apartment he hadn’t before thought of as special. Sometimes she’ll cook for him or let him sneak a smoke.

Katya on the other hand shows her friendship in a more physical way. She’ll attach herself to him, delighted that Bucky never made her feel uncomfortable or weird, never tried to make advances on her. Katya often kissed his cheek and put her feet in his lap; hugged him when she saw him and generally became very protective of him. Which was an odd feeling.

Bucky both loves and hates that Katya is physically friendly with him. He likes it because his touch-starved body craves it and there’s no expectation behind it, just platonic contact. But the other part of him hates it because it isn’t  _Ana_  touching him. She who is fairly flighty when it comes to touch and shows extreme aversion to it most of the time.

But now as they wait for Katya to arrive their legs are tangled together under the table as they sit across from each other and Bucky couldn’t be happier, could almost purr from the warm contact. Ana’s phone buzzes bringing her attention away from a stray cat that had just wandered by. “Katya isn’t coming. She’s-,” Ana squints at her screen. “-getting McDonald’s? Fine. Ditch us for McDonald’s.” The cat wanders by again, Ana’s attention immediately drawn, and Bucky rolls his eyes, scooping it up and holding it out to her.

“You do collect strays,” he observes. Secretly Bucky is very glad Katya got held up at McDonald’s. He likes having Ana all to himself, without Katya and especially without Fre who distrusted Bucky more than ever. Plus, things like their legs being tangled together were more likely to happen if they weren’t around.

The skinny, sandy cat purrs as Ana cradles him to her chest, “They’re the best kinds of pets,  _dorohyy._  They love you the most because they know what it means to be alone.” It’s quiet for a moment as the cat purrs and Ana smiles. He didn’t quite mean the animals but he doesn’t say that. “We have one last visit to make today and then I think maybe we should do something fun.”

“Fun?” He asks warily.

She just smiles and sits the cat down.

 

~

 

“Hello Marie,” Ana says gently. Marie only stares in horror at Bucky, eyes somewhere around his chest, not daring to look at his face, before shrinking away from the doorway. The door actually trembles in her grasp as her wide eyes dart to Ana’s face. And Bucky doesn’t want to make this woman feel any more uncomfortable so he takes a step back and lowers his head, a sign of submission. He would know.

Fingers find the crook of his elbow, as they often do these days, to tug him forward just a bit. He keeps his head lowered and eyes averted as the woman lets out a breathy whisper, voice thick with betrayal, “Ana? How could you?” Marie’s voice is terrified. The dots connect in his brain quickly before he snaps his head up and stares at Ana. She doesn’t look back at him, just keeps her fingers on his arm and her eyes trained on Marie’s.  

Ana shakes her head, “No. Never.”

Quiet settles as Marie glances back and forth, back and forth. A cry echoes in the apartment behind her, and Marie goes even paler. “My son then?” There’s pure horror in her tight voice as well as terror but the wheels are turning as the woman thinks through her options, her escape routes. Bucky has felt that enough times to recognize it in someone else. The panic of watching your options close down around you, of your freedom disintegrating right before your eyes.

“What would give you that idea, darling?” Ana’s fingers tighten slightly, letting him know not to move, lest he scare her away back into her apartment. During the three months he’s been helping she’s never taken him to one of their protected people, male or female, and now he knows why. Marie thought Ana had finally tricked her and brought some sort of twisted auction right to her front door. “This is my friend. I know how he looks but he helps. He’s been helping me for a couple months now. I promise. Have I ever broken my promises before?”

The shaking has subsided a little at Ana’s soft words, her quiet reassurance. “You promise?” She whispers, eyes finally moving to Bucky’s face, if only for a second before she averts her gaze back to Ana.

“Yes.”

“He’s not…one of  _them_?” Disgust is thick in Marie’s voice.

“No.”

“You trust him?”

“With my life.”

Bucky jolts at this admission. The conviction in her voice shakes him to his core. As though maybe she does trust him with her life, precious and fragile as lives seem to be. Can he be trusted though? To hold something so important and precious in his hands? Especially one so bright and wild? No, he thinks, he can’t. Yet, he knows if he told her that she would laugh and say she’s already decided that she does trust him, whether he thinks she should or not.

The floorboards creak as Marie shifts her body weight from one foot to the other, thinking. Ana doesn’t say anything, just stands patiently. “You’re sure?”

“I am.” Marie contemplates Bucky for a few more seconds before Ana says, “His name is James.”

This surprises Bucky. Although he had given her his name months ago she hardly ever gave it out, something he’s been immensely grateful for, always using his pseudonym in public. But he too senses that this woman needs the truth. Names are important after all. And no one knew that better than Bucky.

He bows his head, a slight incline, “Ma’am,” he says politely. They’ve all been speaking Romanian and he hardly notices the language anymore as it’s mainly what he and Ana speak most of the time anyways. They hardly ever slip into English anymore since he became, for the most part, fluent.

The baby cries from within the apartment again as Marie meets his eyes full on for the first time. The quiet timbre of his voice seems to have convinced her of Ana’s truthfulness about him. “Come in. I have your favorite soup Ana.”

They tentatively step over the threshold as Marie hurries off to fetch her son. Ana turns to him and nods, releasing his elbow as she does so. A giggle precedes Marie out of the bedroom as Bucky nods back.

“So, Ana, tell me please. Why me?”

Ana bounces in place as the baby is placed in her arms, “You are most receptive to new things, especially new people. And I knew most of you would react badly to James. He’s a gentle giant really.”

Eyes run over his body as self-consciousness settles into the cracks of his brain. He did not like being observed. In any capacity. But especially like this, like he’s being examined for some worth he didn’t know if he possessed or not.

_He’s still too thin._

_Have you been making sure he eats?_

_Well I don’t watch the whole time._

_His naked body on display. For the scientists. For the guards. For other’s pleasure. For stress relief. For the future. For history. He has to do better, has to or-_

_A slap._

_If he won’t eat maybe we’ll try something different. He hears the slither of a tube. No, he ties to say, he’ll be good. He’ll eat, he will. He’s still on display as he’s shoved back on that metal table. No-_

Bucky steps behind Ana, away from the woman’s curious gaze. Her eyes widen. “He’s different.”

“I would never bring someone unsafe to you, Marie,” Ana says as the baby gurgles and tangles his tiny fists in her hair. “He’s helping me and so I thought it important he meet some of you.”

Marie smiles then and gestures at the table, “Sit, please. I’ll get you something to eat.”

They eat Marie’s soup, the baby, Luca, sitting in Ana’s lap, wide, innocent eyes never leaving Bucky. It’s peaceful, once Marie becomes more comfortable around him. She doesn’t speak to him directly but smiles at him when he gathers their dishes and stacks them on the counter.

When they’re back out on the street Ana says, “I’ll teach you Ukrainian.” She doesn’t look at him and the lack of inflection in her voice says more than any tone of voice could have. Her eyes are faraway and a bit lost looking as the sun starts to set on the city, cool air whipping around them.

Bucky can’t help but think he’s just passed some test he didn’t know he was taking.

 

~

 

Ana’s version of fun includes taking a very long walk, in the cold, to the outskirts of the city where the farmland begins. There animals roam. She stands at the fence, chin resting on a wooden post as she crosses her ankles and leans there.

“You like animals,” Bucky says, just to break the silence. She usually hardly ever shuts up and so her silence is unnerving.

“You don’t, James?” She asks, not looking away from the slow moving cows and plucky, fussy chickens.

Darkness settles around them as the sun finally rests for the night, “I do. Maybe not as much as you.” He pauses, “The cats are the best.”

She sighs, a gentle breath, “Do you understand me?”

Bucky doesn’t answer immediately, sensing that his answer would settle something irreversible in her mind about him. “Sometimes I think I do. I didn’t at all when I first met you. I thought you were crazy,” he admits a little sheepishly. “But now I see I just didn’t try to. So, I guess some of the time I understand you. I won’t say I do completely.” No, he thinks, he's still very much baffled by her most of the time.

“That’s good to hear,” she says as a cow wanders closer to the fence. “We lived on a farm, you know.”

He allows his shoulder to brush into hers, praying that it’s the right move, a comforting move. In a twist of events her head actually lowers to rest against his shoulder. Bucky’s eyes flutter closed at the contact. Maybe he should ask some questions? Or is it best to let her say what she wants and leave it at that? Thankfully he’s saved from making a decision as she says, “We lived on a farm and my dad taught piano. He always said I was the best student he’d ever had but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t anything but shit.”  

The cow noses closer and sniffs at Ana’s hand. Gentle fingers stroke its nose. “So, I’m going to teach you Ukrainian.”

“Why?” He asks, “I’m glad you will but why?”

His melodic voice washes over her and she grins, “You gained my trust, James. My language is not one I have spoken in a long time but I think you are worthy of knowing it.”

“What happened to you there?” He asks.

She steps away, smile still on her face as she plucks up a few stray wild flowers, “I’ll tell you my story when you tell me some of yours.”

The flowers are shoved through the fence as the cow chomps down on them. She smiles at him and laughs as the cow licks her hand, slimy and gross. A smile nearly works its way onto his face again as he realizes he trusts her too. Completely, as it were. “Okay,” he agrees.

“Okay?” She looks shocked.

A frim nod, “Yes. Not now but I will.”

“Promise?”

And now that he knows what promises mean to her, he knows there’s only one right answer. He means it when he looks her in the eyes and says, “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> înger- Romanian for angel  
> mic miracol- Romanian for small miracle  
> dorohyy- Ukrainian for darling


	11. Hurt

When Bucky comes home from a run one evening, preparing to shower and then go to Ana’s to have a Ukrainian lesson he hears something odd. Music is loud in the apartment above his but there’s no movement accompanying it. And Ana is hardly ever stationary and if she is she’s usually  _singing along or bouncing in her seat or something…_

He listens closer and that’s when he hears it. Shallow breathing and quiet, panicked sobbing. In a flash he’s back out the door and bolting up the steps. The door to Ana’s place is kicked in, the room is in disarray but he can’t see anyone. He clicks the stereo off and the breathing he can hear hitches, the sobs stop and then start again harder than before. Whispered praying begins in Russian before the hitching breaths whisper, “Its James, Katya. Katty, we’re safe. It’s okay.”

Bucky moves then finding Ana and Katya on the floor in front of the couch. His stomach gives a lurch as he takes them in. Ana’s breathing is heavily labored, her face bruised, one eye swollen shut. Her lip is cut and bleeding, her knuckles bruised purple. Katya looks unharmed, her arms clasped tightly around Ana as she cries, rocking back and forth and whispering to her in Russian,  _“Oni ne mogut prinyat' vas ot menya. Pozhaluysta ostan'sya. Pozhaluysta, Ana.”_ For once the language doesn’t faze him, only settles a sadness in him as he listens to her quiet, strangled plea.  _They cannot take you from me. Please stay. Please, Ana._

 _“YA ne ostavlyu tebya, Katya,”_  she whispers.  _I will not leave you, Katya._ Then she looks up and meets his eyes and something in his chest constricts as rage winds through his veins at the person who did this to her. “My nurse is here now, so you’ll have to let me go for a moment,” she says now to Katya in Romanian. She starts to pull away from Katya’s chest, hissing in pain and Bucky stoops down to help her up.

Her hand closes around his gloved metal one and she frowns. He stiffens for a moment but she doesn’t mention it, the hardness, the obvious signs that it wasn’t human flesh that rested beneath the leather glove. Katya bounces up from the floor and runs to the kitchen for ice as Bucky settles her on the couch. “What happened?” he asks quietly.

She shakes her head, “Later.”

“Let me look at you then,” he murmurs, trying to listen to her lungs. “I think you may have broken them this time,  _kokhana_.”

Ana rolls her eyes and looks anywhere but his eyes, “ _I_ didn’t break them.” Then she mutters, “Interrupted my song. I’m probably going to have psychological pain associated with that song forever and it was one of my favorites.” She continues to babble as he presses his fingers along her cheeks and then her collarbones, checking for signs of damage to the bones there, when he notices her trying and failing to pull down her sleeves without his noticing.

Gingerly, he takes her forearm in his hand and rolls the sleeve back up, sucking in a harsh breath when he finally gets it back up. There, carved into her skin is the Ukrainian word повія. Bucky doesn’t yet know enough Ukrainian to know what it means. So, he looks to her, but she won’t look at him as tears brew in her eyes. “What does it say,  _kokhana_?” Rage boils within him but he manages to keep his voice soft and gentle. Someone cut her, cut a  _word_  into her flesh.  

She snorts and wipes her face with her other hand, “You don’t have to be gentle with me, James. I can see how mad you are and you have no right.”

All the breath goes out of him when she says this, “What do you mean I have no right? Someone hurt you. Someone… _marked_  you. I have every right-,”

“It says ‘whore’. So, now you know,” She says and rips her arm out of his grasp. Ana lurches into the bathroom where she slams the door as her breathing takes off and a panic attack overcomes her. The only thing he can do is stand there with Katya, who holds her tears and melted ice. The door could easily be ripped off the hinges but he really can’t imagine that would help her very much. So, while she’s in the bathroom he sets about fixing the front door, letting Katya move around with him, one hand on his back at all times, thinking it best to leave Ana alone to calm down a bit.

“Why don’t you call Fre?” he asks about an hour later, with the door back in place and nothing else to do he becomes fidgety. “He should know his friend has been hurt.”

When she gives a teary nod and leaves the room after giving him a hug Bucky goes back to the bathroom door, trying to control his anger and his panic. “Ana? Please open the door. I won’t mention it but there’s a chance it won’t scar if you let me help you.” Someone had hurt his friends and he hadn’t been here to stop it. He clenches his hands into tight fists. Would he ever be able to do anything right ever again? “Please,” his voice is hoarse as he pleads.

The door opens slowly, “I loved that song, James.” Blood drips down her arm in large rivulets where she had been picking at the wound, her eyes far away and distant.

“ _Ana_!” He steps into the bathroom and grabs her before turning on the sink and shoving her arm under the water. “Fuck. Why did you  _do_  that?” He holds her firmly there even though she doesn’t try to move. When most of the blood is cleared away he grabs a towel to wrap around her arm. He takes her face between the palms of his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes, “Why? I deserve to know, Ana. Why?”

She swallows thickly and looks to the doorway where Fre stands, chest heaving, Katya behind him. Bucky kicks the door closed on them with his foot before focusing his eyes on hers again. “Why,  _kokhana_?”

“I can’t be theirs again,” she swallows and looks away from him. Her voice is broken, “I can’t.”

It’s a strange echo of his own worst fears and so he crushes her body to his in a sudden, fierce hug, “They won’t.”

“You don’t even who they are-,”

“It doesn’t matter. People don’t belong to people.” They stand there like that for a long time, Bucky’s arms around her, Ana letting it happen.

Eventually her arms circle around his waist carefully, not squeezing, just resting there. “Alright let’s stop this snotty stuff before we get stuck like this. I’m not some sap you know.”

He doesn’t answer, only rolls his eyes, glad she’s back, “Okay. Let me patch you up. You’re going to be in some pain. And you’re going to have a shiner.”  

“Good, it’ll make me look like a total badass,” she says as he unwraps the towel when she sits down on the closed toilet seat. “I can make up something excellent. Like defending a poor girl’s honor at a skivvy bar. Or winning a street fight and this is my trophy.”

Bucky shakes his head and lets out a breath, an almost laugh, “Why are you like this?”

She watches as he cleans her arm and applies some sort of salve that she’s sure she didn’t own before she met him, “It’s the only thing that keeps me sane most days, Jamie.” When her arm is wrapped he sets about her ribs. He crouches in front of her and puts his hands on either side of her ribcage.

“Breathe in,” he commands. “Out.” She puffs a deliberately hard breath into his face and laughs as his hair sways before wincing. He rolls his eyes and says, “Fractured.”

“I’m not going to the hospital.”

“Of course not,” he sighs.

Ana smiles at him, one hand picking absently at the gauze on her injured arm, “Why would I when I have you?”

His face only gets a little red, “Don’t pick on that.”

 

~

 

Ana paces damn near all night. Anxious footsteps pace and pace and pace. Until he can’t stand it anymore. But then the sun comes up and the steps stop. Her apartment door opens and closes and her near silent feet pass by his door entirely. It’s the first time in months that she’s not stopped by to grab him and take him with her on her daily adventures. Anxiety eats at him as he imagines where she might be going, trying to decide if he should tail her. 

It’s not long after when Bucky’s brushing his teeth that a knock sounds on his door. He can tell by the sound of her steps and her breathing pattern that it’s Katya.

When he opens the door she says, “May we speak in Russian? It will be easier for me to say.”

He swallows thickly, “I can try.”

 “You have to know what happened. I know Ana is good at avoiding the truth.”

He nods and she continues, "There were three of them and they came for me. Ana said she was me. They knew she was not me, her arm is evidence enough of that. I’m not Ukrainian. They know that,” she clears her throat and says, “You must ask her to tell you about it. I think it’s all my fault.”


	12. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would really love to hear your thoughts!!!
> 
> Thanks for reading!

A day passes. And then two. Three, five, seven. Before Bucky knows it three weeks have passed and he’s neither seen nor heard Ana. Or Fre. Or anyone looking for Ana. Even Katya is scarce and he wonders when he became so dependent on these people. These strangers turned allies turned friends.

He worries all the time about their safety, their wellbeing. But they don’t come home. Work becomes tiresome, the city becomes darker, desolate despite the rising temperatures and blooming flowers. The memories sneak and the nightmares creep. It’s like the last nine months hadn’t even happened. It’s like nothing at all had happened. It’s like the whole thing had been some hopeful dream. Without the noise and the commotion and the people and the strangeness, everything feels empty, bleak, dead.

Those aren’t words that he wants to describe his life with. But it made sense it a way. Like going home. Maybe to an abusive home, maybe to a home that hurt a little bit but home all the same. He spends more time at the library and in his head, trying to piece together memories in notebooks that never seem to make any goddamn sense. Trying to remember his friend Steve and his Ma and his sisters and Brooklyn. But there at the back of his mind scratching and scratching and  _scratching_  is Ana, smile bright, words disarmingly charming in a way that only she can pull off. With her cats and dogs and odd assortment of people. But people all the same. People who had inadvertently become his people. People who were suddenly stolen away from him.

He hates it. He hates them. He cries and doesn’t sleep and tries his best to forget and remember.

He feeds the cats.

 

~

 

On week four Bucky is woken by a loud thud followed by a string of curses.  _Above_   _him_.

 _Ana_.

He’s up in half a second, hastily pulling on a shirt and one glove onto his metal hand before he’s dashing up the stairs. Shoeless and a bit wild-eyed he slams into the doorway to her apartment. Standing there, with her hands on her hips and her back to him as the cats swarm her and mewl happily, she directs a pair of identical twins. The teenage boys grin cheekily at him as they dump the rest of the boxes they hold onto the floor. Ana turns and spots him, smiling as she waves cheerily at him.

“Thanks boys,” she says to the twins as she toes the boxes to the side.

“Anything for you, Ms. Kharkiv,” they answer in eerie unison. They each bow and hold out a hand. She chortles and slaps some bills into their hands. The black haired twins bolt out the door, so fast they seem to be made of smoke.

He expects her to say something to him. Apologize, explain, say that she missed him, something,  _anything_  that meant that the last months of his life have been real and not some pipe dream. When she doesn’t, when she just continues to sort through boxes he doesn’t know what to do. Her face is bruised worse than ever, arms shaking with weakness as she reaches toward the box, her smile fading. The hitch of air in her lungs terrifies him as he’s caught between going to her and being completely pissed off.

Then she straightens and looks him in the eyes as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. When she releases the pink flesh it wobbles with suppressed emotion before she swallows thickly and murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

For a second he doesn’t say anything, waits to see if she’ll say more. She doesn’t and so he asks, “What happened?”

Some of her gusto comes back as she sucks in a large breath and only chokes around it a little when her lungs don’t move the way they need to, “Well, interesting story that, I-,”

“Ana.”

She snaps her mouth shut and doesn’t say anything else, her face red at the reprimand. The muscles in her neck work as she attempts to keep her tears in and her voice strong. “Go away.”

He’s sure he hasn’t heard her correctly, “What?”

“I said go away.” She meets his eyes, “I don’t owe you anything. Explanation or otherwise. This is my life and I invited you in. I never said you had a right to know anything. Now go.” Her voice is harsh but there’s no bite behind her words, the implied threat empty.

Delicate hands go back to work on the boxes but he doesn’t leave, “Let me look at your ribs.”

Bucky watches as something behind her eyes cracks and fractures and splits open. Her body falls heavily onto the couch, the weight of the world finally crushing her down. He wonders what happened to her while she was gone, what she had been doing, who she had been chasing.

The door is pulled shut behind him before he makes his way to her. He sits next to her as her eyes flutter shut. “If you want to tell me I’ll listen. Katya told me to make you but I won’t.”

“Katty,” she mutters under her breath. “She doesn’t know what it is to have secrets. Everything’s a fucking open shit show with her.” She opens her eyes to meet his, “You know what it’s like to have secrets though don’t you, Jamie?”

He nods, “Yes, I do.”

A long, defeated breath leaves her as she looks away from his eyes, “I’m all fucked up.” She swallows loudly, “Everything hurts.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Looks like it.”

“Will you be my nurse one more time?”

He raises one brow, “Only once more?”

Silence settles in the apartment. Sun streams in the window, dust motes floating, slanting right over her hazel eyes. They look like gold and sunshine and good times coming and Bucky suddenly can’t look away. He’s never seen someone so beautiful and so injured. “As long as you need it I’ll patch you up.”

Her brows pull together, head tilting to the side, “And you never ask for anything in return.”

“Neither do you.”

A smile lights her face then, bright and blinding, “I think sometimes you’re the only person who’s ever understood me.”

 

~

 

Fifteen minutes later he’s staring at her mostly naked body. “What?” she asks, “You’ve never seen a girl before? Are you gay? That was intrusive I’m sorry. If you are that’s okay. I’m not homophobic just curious.” She slaps his hand away when he rolls his eyes and reaches out for her. “Don’t you know not to grab someone?”

“Jesus Christ, Ana, do you want me to help you or not?”

“I don’t like being touched,” she says, her bravado suddenly gone. How much she must trust him to stand there nearly completely naked. His heart swells even as his chest constricts. Nearly all of her is purple and gray and blue. “Sorry,” she mutters suddenly, “You don’t know how hard it is to be on display like this. I know you only want to help me.”

He stares at her.  _On display_ … “You know I might know what it’s like.”

“Do you?” she looks up.

A nod, speaking it seemed like admitting more than he was ready to. She nods back and sits on the closed toilet. He kneels before her and starts at her feet, cut up and bruised. “How can you even walk right now? Tell me if I do something that makes you uncomfortable.”

“I will.” It’s quiet after that as he makes a full examination of her body, something from HYDRA actually coming in handy. He had been taught how to examine and patch himself up for the most part and it’s easy to translate the skills onto another person.

_Snow dances down around him as his arm fits under the smaller boy’s shoulders, supporting his slight weight._

_Jesus Christ, Steve, can’t you just learn to stay down for once?_

_No, mutters Steve. I can’t just leave it Buck. If I don’t get up, they win._

_They win anyways, Steve! Blood drips down onto the clean snow. Your Ma is going to kill us both when she sees you!_

_Steve laughs and meets his friend’s eyes. She won’t, pal. You don’t get it Buck, getting up when you can’t win is the only thing you can do._

“How did you end up like this?” he asks, as he finishes wrapping Ana’s feet, wishing he had his notebook with him, replaying the sudden memory over and over, so he might remember it enough to write down later.

Her hand reaches out to him suddenly and he jerks away. The hand flies away again to be tucked tightly under her naked thigh, “Sorry, sorry, that was so stupid of me. I’m sorry, James.”

He curses himself as he shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. I just…wasn’t expecting it.”

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

Bucky shakes his head as he runs his hand up the soft flesh of her calves, tapping on her knees lightly and then with a little more force. This time when her hand reaches out he very carefully doesn’t move, desperate for touch after four weeks alone. The pad of her thumb carefully swipes under his eye as the rest of her hand gently cradles his jaw. As quickly as it had come, it’s gone. He looks up as she sticks a cigarette in her mouth and lights it. He continues his examination, fingers kneading into her hips and then up to her ribs, where she hisses out a long breath, smoke billowing out of her nostrils. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Oh nothing, just fighting my enemies.”

He rolls his eyes, “They’re going to need to be taped up again,  _kokhana_.”  

Another drag is taken from the cigarette as he searches for medical tape and gauze, “Is that your favorite Ukrainian word, James?”

“One of them,” he answers easily, not phased.

“What’s some other ones?” She holds out the cigarette to him and he takes a long drag off it as her fingers still hold it.

She pulls back and puts it to her own mouth as he breathes the smoke out and sits back on his ass before saying, “I don’t know.  _Dorohyy_?”

A laugh bubbles out of her, “So, sweetheart and darling are your favorite words?”

“They’re the prettiest,” he admits. “It’s sometimes hard to learn for me. It sounds a lot like Russian sometimes and…I don’t have great memories associated with that language.”

“Katya must be a trip for you.”

“I like Katty,” he says as he tapes her up and takes her hand not holding the cigarette to look over her knuckles and fingers.

She smiles, “Good.” Then, “Mind if I put my clothes back on?”

He had almost forgot that she’s sitting in front of him, nearly naked, only in her underthings. “You don’t have to ask that,” he says. A shirt is slipped over her head before she jerks up a pair of sweatpants. “I need to set your wrist though. It’s twisted. And you need to clean the wound on your arm, you haven’t been taking proper care of it. And you need to put ice on your eye. And-,”

Her hand lands on his and squeezes gently, “Okay.”

 

~

 

He finds every excuse not to go back to his apartment that day. After wrapping her hands and wrists and eating lunch together they had landed on her couch, an assortment of people showing up throughout the day, asking after investments and promises and people. Bucky steers all of them away, Ana’s eyes drooping further and further closed as the day wears on. Her boisterous and loud personality slipping away to be replaced by a sleepy, gentle girl.

So, that’s how he finds himself on her couch late at night, her feet in his lap. The contact grounds him in a way Katya’s touch will never be able to. The news comes on as he massages her calves lightly, careful not to press too hard, mindful of her bruises. And there he is.

Captain America.

Ana sits up as the news shows a city falling out of the sky. “What in the ever-loving fuck are the Americans doing now?”

Close up shots of robots and Iron Man and civilians running for it, SHIELD and a mention of HYDRA. Then Cap and Black Widow at a press conference. A teary Sokovian girl. A man known as Hawkeye beside her, looking very fatherly. “What the hell?” She whispers as Bucky swallows hard, “You okay, James?”  

He looks over, “Can we turn it off?”

Steve Rogers’s voice is echoing around the room as he answers a question from the press. She clicks it off and silence resounds, deep and revealing. “Off,” she says gently.

When he doesn’t look up, doesn’t meet her eyes she turns to him and rests her head against his shoulder, “You’re okay.”

“I know.”

“Want to hear a new song, old man?”

He breathes a sigh of relief that she wouldn’t baby him, treat him like glass. “Yeah.”

She hops up and plucks up a CD, “Alright so this is Lionel Richie and…”

Tears prick at his eyes, memories itching at the edges of his mind, but he has Ana back and maybe if he’s lucky she won’t leave him behind again.

 

~

 

After listening to too much Lionel Richie, Bucky finally convinces an exceptionally exhausted Ana to go to bed. She’s a bit loopy, slurring her words and stumbling.

She flops down on the bed and he tucks the thick duvet around her. “When is the last time you slept?”

“Hmm, what’s today?” He tells her the date and she says, “Probably three days ago.”

He shakes his head and shoves down his curiosity, his anger, because she’s right. Nothing is owed to him from her, not information, not friendship, not a warm place to stay, nothing. Yet, she provided most of those things anyways. And so, logically, he should be grateful. But goddammit if he doesn’t want more. “Get some sleep.” When he starts to walk away her hand, still wrapped and taped up, darts out to catch at his wrist.

“Stay?” He looks down and meets those hazel, golden eyes pleading with him, “You…you don’t have to but I don’t want to be alone. You can stay in the bed and I won’t touch you but I just-,”

He shushes her and moves around the bed. When he’s settled he whispers to her, “I thought you didn’t like people in your bed?”

“I don’t. You’ve proven to be more than just people.”

Not entirely sure what that means he closes his eyes and true to her word Ana doesn’t touch him though, of course, he wishes she would. “Thanks, Jamie,” she whispers before dropping off. That odd, safe, comfortable feeling overcomes him and he too falls asleep.

 

~

 

When sun streams in the window the next morning Bucky wakes, noting immediately that the bed is a lot fuller than it was when they went to sleep. His body is curled protectively around Ana’s, her back pressed to his chest. Next to Ana lies Katya in a large sweater and leggings, her head tucked under Ana’s chin and her hands clasped and smashed between their chests as they face each other. On Bucky’s other side lays Snipe and at the foot of the bed is the other Great Dane who Bucky had yet to encounter. Jax is curled on the pillow pressed between his head and Ana’s. Puff smirks at him from her place on top of his feet, purring warmly.

Fre stands in the doorway with a cup of coffee. He raises it at Bucky with a nod before closing the door quietly. Something about the situation seeming to have made him trust Bucky all of a sudden.

Bucky decides not to question it too much and presses closer to Ana’s sleeping form before going back to sleep, an odd feeling curling in his gut.

He thinks it might be love. He thinks it might be home.


	13. History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last chapter I had up before I deleted the series. 
> 
> I have written more since then and plan to continue to do so. I hope y'all are enjoying the series and I would love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> This chapter has mentions of rape/non-con.

After a while it becomes unbearable. He’s woken from that warm, happy space in his brain that seemed only to exist when in the presence of Ana, by Katya tossing and turning and wiggling and kicking. Ana’s hand, seemingly in her sleep, darts out several times to catch her before she could fall out of bed. Like him, Ana herself seemed to be a stationary sleeper. Their bodies molding together in a comfortable way that Bucky tries really hard not to think about for too long. And so, if Katya had not been in the bed everything would have been fine. But then, even the dogs get fed up and move to the living room, Jax following not long after. Puff, however, seems perfectly happy to never move from on top of Bucky’s feet.

And Bucky doesn’t dare move. If he moves then Ana will move and this whole contact and warmth and easiness resting inside him will go away and he doesn’t want that. Katya fidgets and Ana sleeps right through it and Bucky lies there with his arm around Ana’s waist, his body pressed up against her. They fit together in a strange way, different and perfect.

So, he lies there and tries to enjoy the contact while it lasts, while she’ll allow it to last. Eventually Katya gets up, stretching in the sunlight like a cat before she leans down and gently kisses Ana’s temple. Bucky pretends to be asleep so it’s very hard not to react when a hand brushes some of his hair back and lips press to his forehead. He hears a small laugh and then footsteps before the door opens and shuts. An argument starts up in the kitchen with Fre almost immediately. Puff purrs and meows gently at him from the end of the bed.

Bucky pulls Ana just a bit tighter into himself, careful of her battered body, while also keeping his metal arm safely tucked away from her and underneath a pillow so there’s no chance she’ll feel the unforgiving, unnatural hardness of the limb. He falls asleep again after that but not before Ana turns in his arms and curls into his chest, letting out a gentle noise of contentedness, her forehead pressed to his collarbone as she wriggles that much closer, until there’s hardly any room between them at all.

 

~

 

“You know he’s rather good looking.”

“Who?”

Katty lets out a disgruntled and disbelieving snort before speaking in her native tongue, “I know you don’t normally notice that sort of thing Ana but you shared a bed with the guy not a week ago. You had to have noticed he’s a bit attractive.”

Ana gives a shrug and adjusts the sunglasses on her face. The café they’re sitting outside of is warm and sunny as the season’s first rush of tourists attempt to decipher the Romanian menu. “I guess so.”

Behind her sunglasses Ana has been keeping a close eye on James across the square, the city’s market finally back in season. He had happily went over to buy something, refusing for the time being to say what. “What do you mean you guess so?” Katya asks exasperatedly. “I mean when he first started showing up I thought he was a little plucky-,” Ana snorts, in no capacity could James have ever been described as  _plucky_ , “-and I was a little afraid of him anyways. I thought for sure you-,” she cuts herself off and glances at Ana nervously, waiting for some sort of negative reaction.

When Ana just sits still and stone-faced Katya continues. “Anyways. He’s gotten bigger and sweeter and I think he’s great and I know that you must think he’s good looking.”

She remains stoic and says, “Then ask him on a date Katya. I’m here on business not to be checking out my neighbor.”

Katya wiggles closer, “I mean-,”

“Lay off,” she snarls at her as James picks him way back across the square to them. Ana’s heart is racing, her lungs feel hot and constricted as images of  _them_  flash through her mind. “Just shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Noise crushes itself into Ana’s ears, everything loud and overwhelming but far away and muted at the same time. Katya’s voice, Russian spilling from her lips, is demanding in her ear, “I know what happened to you was bad. But you’ve gotta get back out there. When is the last time you got any? What’s it been seven years since we got out? And I mean he did look pretty cozy in your bed-,”

The chair she’s sitting in flies back as she stands, eyes wild, hands in fists to hide the shaking. In the corner of her eye she catches James, stopped as people flow around him, worry creasing his face. For the first time his presence shoots panic into her veins. She turns away from him to meet Katya’s surprised eyes. “ _Got any_? Are you kidding? I never  _got any_.  _Get back out there_? Fuck you, Katty. The only reason they didn’t touch you is because I was there! I protected you and then you-you-you turn right around and willingly put yourself in that situation and I-I’m supposed to get back out there? And then I had pull your ass out of the fucking fire twice. Seven years is not long enough. No amount of time will ever be enough to get over what they did to me. Now, I have fucking work to do.”

With that she spins on her heal and stalks away, violent, terrible thoughts and memories swirling in her brain. Her thoughts are on getting her job done and moving on to the next. Because this is her calling, her duty, her cross to bear. To take down these people and not think about the first time she had to.

 

~

 

“Ana?”

He had knocked on the door for several minutes, even though he’d stopped knocking when he visited months ago. But he thought it best not to surprise her in her current state. His shirt is wet from Katya’s tears, having tried to console her after Ana stormed off, off to no doubt to cause chaos somewhere.

When no one answers he comes inside the apartment fully and glances around. The place is an absolute disaster, plates shattered and books thrown off shelves, various objects tossed to the ground and the coffee table and the dining table overturned.

So, in an effort to make whatever happened between the two of them right, or at least make Ana a little more comfortable Bucky cleans the place up and then cooks dinner and feeds the cats. Jax is a bit more meek than usual and he knows that Ana’s being upset has also thoroughly upset the animals. Even Puff seems a bit down and the dogs come by who are hardly ever around. When all is finished he sits on the couch with the first aid kit and waits. Katty’s distraught figure floating through his mind.  _I shouldn’t have said that,_ she had sobbed into his shirt in hiccupped Russian.  _I just want her to be happy._

The door to the apartment opens and bounces against the wall. He turns and she flinches. Ana’s clothes are dirty, her person disheveled, more injuries littering her body. “Why won’t you let me help you goddammit?” He growls, staring at her.

Her head jerks up, “Don’t you fucking do this to me right now. I can’t take it. Now get out.” Ana slams the door and makes a beeline for her room but Bucky steps into her path, reaching for her arm. When his hand touches her, she jumps back as though burned by his touch.

“Don’t touch me!” Her voice is sharp and high, eyes filled with a panic Bucky doesn’t recognize in her. His heart sinks as Ana bolts past him. Of course she wouldn’t want to be touched by him. Stupid. Utterly, horrifically idiotic to think The Solider could bring her a sense of peace. His brain starts to turn to mush after that, melting into memories and terrible things past, and so he decides to go.

He’s nearly to the front door when Ana opens the bathroom door and calls, “James?” Bucky turns, “Can you stay? I don’t want you to go.”

“I made dinner,” is his only response. She smiles just a little.

 

~

 

Ana doesn’t allow him any closer to her than a few feet but lets him walk her through how to take care of some of her wounds. They eat dinner together and then they sit on the couch as she blinks slowly, trying to keep her eyes open despite the fatigue clearly overcoming her. “It happened when I was pretty young.”

He jumps, not expecting her voice.

“They took me. It was a bad day, protests and chaos. And they took me. And they hurt me. I was only fifteen. I hadn’t ever been with anyone yet and…there were others but they came and went and I stayed because I fought. They liked me because I fought them. It hurt, James. So, so bad. And it felt like no one cared and it felt like hell. They kept us in a…sort of warehouse. With…cells and…client rooms. That’s what they called them, client rooms.” She tilts her head experimentally onto his shoulder as she swallows thickly. “They raped me,” she whispers. “And then Katya came.”

“She fought tooth and nail. They put her in my ‘room’ and she was so young and small and fierce…that when they came for us I would do the guards favors so that they wouldn’t touch Katty and only take me to the clients.” A sob bursts from her lips before she cuts it off.

“Goddammit I’m getting all blubbery and gross,” she says, wiping her face on her sleeve and attempting to win some of her bravado back. More and more he realizes what a farce the whole thing is. Defense mechanism indeed.

“It’s okay,” he says as gently as he can.

Ana squirms a bit closer to him, “You know you’re the softest person I’ve ever met.” He jolts at this statement which she takes as offense and hastens to explain, “I don’t mean it in a bad way. I mean your heart is so soft and gentle and big. But I know you’ve seen some bad things too and yet you are so soft and kind. Anyways, I’ll tell it all someday. But Katya…she just refuses to see why I…why I don’t like it, want it. They never did anything to her and then we left and-and she ran right back into it. Free…and she put herself back in that box and her only excuse was…money.” She spits the last word violently. “I’ve tried so hard with her.”

Bucky puts his arm around her shoulders as she closes her eyes. “What did she say?”

“Nothing,” she says sleepily, crisis apparently over. “She didn’t mean it but it still hurts.” It’s quiet for a few minutes until she whispers to him, “I’m so glad you moved in downstairs, hobo-man. You’ve been a real star and I trust you and so does Fre and so now we know you’re really legit. Fre doesn't trust anybody you know and…” Her voice keeps going, rambling and rambling and rambling. Bucky knows she’s only doing so to fill that empty, echoing silence of the past and that dark space in her mind. And so he just keeps her close and lets her talk. Ana even allows him to rest his chin on her head and drop a kiss to her hair right before she falls asleep.


	14. Tavern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay first new chapter! 
> 
> I hope you like it! Let me know how you feel!

He and Ana stay on the couch together for a while until she starts to squirm in her sleep because of the uncomfortable angle. So, Bucky carefully maneuvers his arms underneath her neck and knees before lifting her and taking her to her room.

Once tucked safely away he allows himself to press another kiss to her forehead. Ana sighs and before he can walk away and wall away these feelings starting to creep into his chest, she grabs his hand. “Jamie?” She doesn’t open her eyes but her grip is tight, her fingers tremble, “I swear I’m not the clingy sap I’ve been acting like lately and I know you stayed once last week but it’s been a trying day and I want to know if maybe you’d stay with me? I don’t like being alone and if you don’t want to stay then could you fetch the dogs?”

Bucky allows his gloved metal hand to ghost over her forehead, “I’ll stay.”

A content sigh leaves her as she lets go of his hand. He walks around the bed and carefully lies down, well away from her and carefully not touching her. But of course she seems to trust him now more than ever, certainly more than he deserves and so she rolls over until she’s curled into his side.

“You trust me,” he states, still unable to believe it.

“Man do you catch on quick,” she quips before laughing a little. “Poor thing, I already told you that.”

For a moment he doesn’t say anything as he wraps his arm around her back, “But why?”

“Should I not?”

She purrs and nestles down closer to him as Bucky starts to nervously stroke her back, “I…I don’t know, Ana.”

When she doesn’t say anything he looks down to find her dead asleep and he supposes that in itself is an answer.

 

~

 

Ana hasn’t shut up in a good four hours. Fre and Katya have been ignoring her and playing cards while Bucky attempts to sort through some of their paperwork and Jax struggles to find a comfortable position in his lap. 

She’s speaking in English for once, something she rarely does anymore since Bucky learned Romanian. The room is calm despite Ana’s pacing and incessant talking. But he knows, he can feel it thick in the air. She’s nervous and in pain and trying not to let it show. Her voice is a perfect American accent and if Bucky didn’t know her he would assume she’s a native speaker.

“-And then Puff went flying down the street, screeching as loud and angry as I’ve ever heard. And I told that son of a bitch to come square up because that’s my cat and if he’s got an issue then-,”

“ _Dorohyy_?”

She pauses, fists still raised in front of her, “Hm?”

Bucky sighs and stands, Jax jumping from his lap, “You’re speaking English.”

“I have to practice. What if I get rusty and I forget what the English word for toaster is?” She answers him in Ukrainian, Bucky just barely following her.

He rolls his eyes and says in Romanian, “I’ll be there to remind you what ‘toaster’ is in English.”

“Could you two stop switching between languages? Is giving me headache,” Katya complains. “Your flirting is bad either way.”

Ana ignores Katty and tilts her head to the side at Bucky, “You’ll be there to remind me? That is mighty interesting.” Before he can respond she turns on her heel and marches toward the front door, forgetting her jacket as usual. “C’mon James. Things to do.”

Bucky only takes her jacket from Fre’s outstretched hand and follows.

On the street he asks her where they’re going as she lights a cigarette and hands it to Bucky, who sticks it in his mouth, before lighting her own. “We are going to get some cheap alcohol.”

“It’s barely noon.”

She squints over at him before pulling out a pair of sunglasses and stuffing them on her face. “So?”

He sighs and drapes her jacket over her shoulders before muttering, “Never mind.”

They walk down the street in companionable silence, Ana waving with her cigarette at the strangest people. She seems to know them and they her but everyone else around acts as if neither of them exist. The world tends to ignore the strange, he’s realized, but Bucky thinks that this might be her superpower. Knowing everyone and everything but operating as though she didn’t exist at all, despite being one of the most exuberant people he’s ever met. No one ever seemed to look twice, or even look in the first place.

It’s not long before he realizes where they’re going. It’s the same route she took that winter night when she met up with an informant and Bucky had followed her. Instead of waiting on the street this time she goes in the direction the old man had come from that night. She leads them down several crooked alleys, cool shadows from the buildings enveloping them, to an old wooden door. A sign hanging above the door reads  _The Old Tavern._ Painted underneath that is a note that reads,  _enter at own risk._

Ana happily pushes the door open, removing her sunglasses as she goes. Inside the door she turns back to Bucky and hands him her carton of cigarettes, “Now James if anyone asks for a cigarette you say no. Here that means you want to have anonymous sex. It’s best for me not to have them at all. I’ll start smoking and then we’ll have a problem and I can’t deal with a repeat of the brawl of 2012.” She starts to walk away, Bucky wondering what happened in the brawl of 2012, when she turns back, “That is unless you need a companion. In that case the answer is yes when the right person approaches.” She winks and walks toward the bar and Bucky hastily stuffs the cigarettes in one of his pockets.

The man behind the bar is the one from the street that cold winter night. He rolls his eyes as Ana finds herself a seat at the bar, doing her best to look innocent and failing miserably, Bucky preferring to stand to her side between her and the majority of the people in the room. The room looks exactly the way one might expect a place called  _The Old Tavern_  to look and, he notices, most of the patrons are smoking. “Who’s your friend?”

“Hmm?” Ana pretends not to know who he means. “ _Oh_! You mean this man here?” She reaches out and pats Bucky’s arm. “He’s my friend.” Bucky flexes and stands a little taller, used to this particular routine by now.

The bartender keeps wiping down the counter observing Bucky with suspicion, fear glinting in his eyes. “What do you want?”

Ana slaps some money down onto the counter, “Nothing. I’m here to drink.” Her smile is toothy and wide, almost mocking.

“I can’t help you.” He hisses and pulls out a glass. A woman is approaching Bucky. He shifts uncomfortably and looks to Ana for help, or maybe just guidance on what the protocol is in this situation, but she’s ignoring him. So he’s supposed to figure it out himself.  

“You can and you will. People are dying. I need one name and the whole thing goes to shit.” She leans forward, “My time away was very  _enlightening_.” They both quiet as the woman comes closer. She’s beautiful with long raven hair and bright green eyes. She’s wearing jeans and a low cut lace-up top, her lips painted a deep berry color.

“Hey handsome,” she greets, leaning on the counter. Ana drinks, the bartender looks away. Ana is watching him closely.

He nods at the woman, “Hello.” He doesn’t smile because he never does.

She looks him up and down and then smiles coyly at him, “Would you happen to have a cigarette?” She leans down a little farther onto the counter, giving him a nice view of her ample cleavage. His eyes never leave her face, Ana notices with a slight upturn of her lips.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” he says kindly, “but I don’t smoke.”

She smiles again but this time it’s genuine instead of sensual and stands straight. “You are a rare gem. I’ll make sure everyone leaves you alone so you can finish your business here. If you ever change your mind about the nicotine though you know where to find me.” She nods at Ana. They seem to know each other.

When the woman has seated herself back at her table Ana says quietly, “He isn’t as strong as we think he is. He’s spread too thin, allocated resources inefficiently. There’s rumors of someone who would testify against him. The empire is collapsing anyways. All we need is that name.”

The bartender cleans a glass, pushes his glasses further up his nose, and shrugs, “I really don’t know, Ana.” He eyes her cut up face and bandaged arms, “What did you learn?”

“That we’re closer to the end than I thought. Most of the girls have been moved here.”

He nods and then slides Bucky a drink. Even though the alcohol has no effect he drinks it and the bartender smiles just a bit. “What’s your name?”

“He has no name,” Ana says violently and slaps a few more bills on the counter. “Not to you he doesn’t.”

And then she slides off the stool, motions Bucky to stay at the counter, and makes her way over to the woman that approached Bucky as the bartender grumbles in annoyance at her behavior. “You deserved that,” Bucky says, startling the man, who hadn’t been expecting him to speak. He watches Ana lay a hand on the woman’s arm and rub circles there before she leans down and whispers something. “You lost her trust when you decided to be a coward.” He never looks at the man.

Ana comes back and loops her arm through Bucky’s, leading them out the door and then around the city. They settle in the grass in a small park and neither of them say anything. But Ana keeps her arm entwined with his, leans her head on his shoulder, and seems at ease.

Right when he thinks she’s dozed off she whispers, “Promise me you won’t ever tell that man your name. He collects names. I don’t want him to have yours.”

Bucky thinks it sounds like some superstitious shit but he can see it’s important to her even if she pretends to be casual. He also knows it’s her way of protecting him. “I promise.” 

 

~

 

He can hear them having sex. It’s loud. Katya’s moans mixing with the grunts of the unknown man. Occasionally he’ll slap her, Bucky can’t be sure where, and she’ll moan louder. She tells him harder, faster and the man complies as the headboard slaps back into the wall. There is hair pulling and more stinging slaps and choking.

His heart pounds as he listens to Katya’s breath scrape in her throat. Then the man will release her and she’ll tell him how good it is.

But all of this is second to the panicked breathing he hears. Panicked breathing that belongs to Ana. Slowly he gets up and pulls on some sweatpants, a shirt, and his ever present glove before going out to his balcony. He can barely hear them here and that means Ana won’t be able to hear them at all. Back inside he carefully gathers blankets, a spare sweatshirt, wine that he keeps just for Ana, and cigarettes and a lighter. All of this goes outside, carefully arranged, and then he goes upstairs to get Ana.

She’s standing in the center of the living room staring at the spare bedroom door with horrified eyes. Her hands tremble slightly at her sides. “She’s drunk and she forgot that she’s not supposed to-,” Ana doesn’t look at him as she swallows hard.

“Come downstairs with me,  _dorohyy_ ,” he says softly.

When she doesn’t move he goes to her side and takes her hand, gently pulling her away. Ana clutches hard at his hand and allows him to lead her downstairs and out onto the balcony. She sits on the ground and pulls the blankets around her, “Thanks James.” The tension is easing out of her shoulders and he knows he was right. She can’t hear it here. He sits down next to her and she leans her head on his shoulder as he lights a cigarette before handing it to her.

“Katty is okay,” he reassures.

“I know.” She takes a shaky drag and then hands it to Bucky. “It’s just hard and she forgot that she’s not supposed to bring them-,”

“To your apartment,” he finishes. “I know. Would you like some wine?”

She does and she drinks more than half the bottle over the course of an hour when Bucky cuts her off. Ana sighs dramatically as he puts the bottle out of her reach, “Thanks Jamie. For being the fun sucker.”

They smoke another cigarette together, passing it back and forth, before Ana starts speaking. “I’ve tried you know. With sex. You’re supposed to like it, I know that.” She shakes her head, “But I just don’t. It always reminds me of-,”

Ana coughs and wiggles closer to him, silent once more. Bucky winds an arm behind her back, confident by now that it’s something he’s allowed to do. When she’s in the mood of course, when she encourages it. “It always feels impersonal.” He nods, understands. “I need it to be real. And it never seems that way.”

“But you see the woman from the Tavern.”

She jolts and looks up at him, wide hazel eyes amused, “How did you know?” He shrugs and so Ana just smiles, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to your perception. I do see her but not for sex.” Ana’s eyes drop, “Those people at the Tavern love sex. They decided that they love it so much that they would make it their living. I’ve interviewed them all and they’re all there because they want to be. I had to be sure.” She pauses, “Vera and I just talk. She lets me touch her. She touches me. But it’s never sex. I don’t think I could.”

Ana looks up at Bucky who is clenching his jaw hard, a muscle jumping in his cheek. Because here he is craving _her_ touch and she had someone she went to see about it, someone that _wasn’t_ _him_. She examines him with drooping eyes and says, “You should go see Vera. She helps a lot because she listens.”

He would like to think this is an odd conversation but it’s not. Not with Ana at least. Bucky tries to ignore the hot stirring of jealousy within him as he watches her light her fourth cigarette, “How often do you see her?” Maybe it was only from before he and Ana had become close.

She shakes her head, “Not often. I usually go when I start to feel disconnected from myself…when I’ve been playing at a part for too long.” She sits up and braces her elbows on her knees. “I haven’t needed to go lately because-,” Ana cuts off and glances over at him before quieting and staying that way for a while. “She’s good because she’ll do anything but also because she’ll do nothing if that’s what you need. And she really seemed to like you and that’s rare, that she seems to like someone.”

Smoke furls into the air as Ana lets the cigarette burn, staring at the cement floor blankly, “You said once that you know what it’s like to be on display.” It’s not a question but he nods anyways as Ana pushes the fingers of her free hand through his. “Did they…?”

“Yes,” he whispers, admitting out loud for the first time what had been done to him, what he had endured for decades.

“I’m sorry,” she squeezes his fingers delicately. “They’re bastards for what they did to us, James. And everyone’s got something coming for one thing or the other, and their day is coming soon.”

Bucky thinks about HYDRA and what they did to him. And then he thinks about all the horrible things he did because of HYRDA. And he thinks that their day and his are probably the same damn day. “Would you like to talk about it?” He hears himself ask.

It’s quiet again. “Would you?” Her voice is so low he almost misses it.

“A little,” he admits. “But maybe not right now.” Bucky should have realized that she was offering her soul to him, that the only right answer was yes, that it was another test. But he missed it this time.

She jumps up from the ground, “Well that’s just peachy because I have places to be and no time to be dilly-dallying here with you.” She sways a little from the wine.

“Hey, Ana, I didn’t mean-,”

“I know what you meant,” her voice is unexpectedly harsh. “It’s no fun to ruin the illusion that someone is _strong_ and _okay_. I get it. It’s fine. I’ll just go back to being-,” She pauses and breathes hard, tears gathering in her eyes. “I don’t know who I am. I don’t remember anymore. Who I used to be before. So this is the best I have.”

She leaves, trailing pieces of his shattered heart from her hands as she does.

Bucky doesn’t see her for a week. He wishes she would stop running away.

 


	15. Vera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Please let me know what you think!!
> 
>    
> Warning: this chapter contains rape/ non-con

After a week with no sign of Ana he goes to see Vera.

He sits at the counter and pulls out a cigarette and says no to each person, male and female, until Vera comes downstairs and sees him. She approaches and he says yes before she can even ask.

Once in her room upstairs, seated on her plush bed, she asks what he wants. “I want whatever you do for Ana.”

Vera observes him, “You love her.”

“No,” he says. “I can’t love.” He can. He knows that he might love her but he also knows he doesn’t deserve to.

“Bullshit. Everyone can love.” She sits down next to him and puts her hand on his knee. “I also know you don’t want what Ana does. She repels most touch, you crave it.”

He swallows hard, “Yes.”

“So what do you want?” She trails her hand higher on his thigh. “You don’t want  _me_  but Ana keeps taking herself away from you. She keeps leaving you doesn't she?” Vera caresses his cheek, “She’s your anchor. And you  _need_  her. Tell me what you need from me, so I can help until she brings herself back to you. I’ll do anything.”

He decides to start with basics, what is necessary. Vera can't see his arm. She'll know and everything will be ruined. “Shirt stays on. Your hands don’t go under.”

“Fine.”

“I want you to-,” he pauses and swallows hard again. Vera moves to stand in front of him and then sinks to her knees, hands rubbing up and down his thighs. “I haven’t…came…in a very long time. I just need to-and I don’t-I-,” And he hates himself and doesn’t want to touch himself but he can’t say this to Vera. But she seems to understand anyways as she unknots the ribbon keeping her robe shut and lets it fall from around her shoulders.

She takes both of his hands and settles them on her heavy breasts. “Decide what you want.”

Bucky lets muscle memory take over and brushes his thumbs over her nipples. She arches into his touch and purrs as her eyes darken. “You can imagine her. I don’t mind.” Only he can't because Ana's breasts are smaller and her hips wider and her eyes kinder and wilder and-

“Stand up,” he requests. Vera does as his hands slip to her hips. He can’t remember the last time he touched someone so soft but then Ana’s scarred flesh flashes through his mind. Soft and delicate, despite the scars. He traces back up and squeezes her breasts softly before he releases them and lowers his mouth to encompass one nipple.

His arms wrap around her back as she stands between his legs and cradles the back of his head to her chest. “Oh, darling, you just need to touch, don’t you? Come once or twice?” Fingers card through his hair and he hates that he likes it.

He hums against her nipple, flicking his tongue over the hardened bud before switching to the other with a hard suck. Vera lets out a heady moan and whispers, “For being rusty you seem to know what you’re doing.” Bucky bites down and she jolts. “Oh baby, I might need this to be a regular occurrence. You haven’t even really touched me and I’m dripping.” When he doesn’t respond again, only moves his hands back to her chest to squeeze and kneed as he sucks harshly at the supple flesh, leaving her aching nipples alone for the moment she says, “You have to tell me what you want.”

Bucky kisses her breastbone gently and murmurs into her skin, trying to avoid her eyes, “I want to make you come, Vera.”

“Fuck. Well go ahead.” He stands and lets Vera lie back on the bed, getting down on his knees so he can kiss up her thighs. If he closes his eyes he can almost imagine its Ana. The guilt he feels for that thought hits him like a ton of bricks and he feels himself wilting almost immediately. Because it’s almost a kind of violation to be thinking of her that way when she doesn’t know and when he knows what she’s been through. He rocks back on his heels.

_“I want to make you come, Barnes.”_

_A hand wraps around his cock and starts stroking gently. Bucky bites down on the rag in his mouth and tries to wiggle away. But he’s weak, they keep him weak. They’ve never been soft when they raped him. His face was always pushed into the mattress while they took him from behind._

_But this man is sitting behind him, stroking his naked chest and tweaking at his sensitive nipples, as he kisses and bites at his neck and shoulder. His hair is getting a little long now and the man laughs when it gets in the way. His other hand is slowly stroking Bucky's half hard cock. He doesn’t understand and he’s terrified._

_“I know they’ve made you come before. But I want you to really enjoy it.” He nips at Bucky’s ear. “They’re always so rough with you.” His hand circles his neck but doesn’t squeeze. “I know how much you hate it when they make you beg for air.” His hand falls away. “I just want you to come, baby.”_

_His thumb rubs over Bucky’s tip and he cries into the rag. “There you are. So sensitive.”_

_Not long after that Bucky comes into the man’s hand. He cries. He’s ashamed. He didn’t like it and he didn’t want it. But still he came. It angers the man that he cries and so he’s punished and the horrible softness doesn’t matter. Not that it mattered in the first place, it was probably worse._

_He’s forced to his knees, the rag ripped away from his mouth, and the man fucks his throat hard and ignores him when he begs for air._

_He’s had worse._

“Sweetie?” Vera’s voice asks. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says heavily before focusing on her body. “You want me to right?” he asks, wrapping his arms around her thighs to hold them apart.

“Yes,” she says breathily, looking at him sadly, like she knows.

It’s all Bucky needs to put his tongue on her, to distract himself. She tastes differently than he’s expecting but keeps lapping at her anyways, pulling heady moans from her lips. He keeps her on edge until he’s hard again so she won’t know, and then he nips her clit and she comes.

As she’s coming down from her high he goes about getting his pants off.

It’s quiet as he fucks her, not rough but not gentle either, and when he comes it’s almost painful. It still feels wrong. It still feels like he shouldn’t enjoy it.

Vera tells him it’s the hardest she’s ever came. He nods and gets dressed and when she tries to kiss him he pushes her gently away. His vision is blurry and he’s sure there’s cotton in his ears from the way Vera’s voice sounds so distant.

He walks home with the taste of Vera on his mouth and can’t bring himself to be alone in his apartment so he goes to Ana’s. Bucky takes a shower at her place, the water so hot it burns as he scrubs hard at his skin and tries not to look at any one part of his body for too long. He’s disgusted with himself. He hates himself, he hates this stupid body. He hates that it’s a reminder of everything he’s been though. He hates that stupid metal  _thing_  attached to his side. He hates the red of the star, staining the metal like blood. Reminding him that in one way or another he’ll always be  _theirs_.  

He dresses quickly and lies in Ana’s bed and waits. It smells like her, like her sheets and her skin and her soap, and he feels a little better, a little safer. But she doesn’t come home. He thinks about the feel of Vera around his cock and the pain that had twisted up his spine when he came, leaving him with a violent headache. Maybe he’ll never enjoy it again. He finds he doesn’t give a fuck either way. It’s just one more thing that’s been taken from him.

 

~

 

Ana sits down on the edge her bed. James is sleeping there. He looks soft in sleep wearing his usual nighttime attire, sweatpants and a long shirt even though its late spring, but when she leans close to kiss his forehead she smells her own soap on his skin and notices how red it is. She pats his hair and turns so her back is to him as she leans on her knees.

“I went home. I wanted to see what they did to my home. Mama and Papa are dead you see and my sister…she was killed that first night when we tried to escape the city. Sometimes I feel bad because I’m glad that she died. She was prettier than me but softer too and so I think hers might have been a better fate than to endure that hell.”

She pauses and sighs and Bucky opens his eyes. He doesn’t say anything or move, doesn’t alert her to his wakefulness. “I feel so guilty sometimes that I’m glad she died. It’s why I get so frustrated with Katty sometimes…because she doesn’t-because she’s not my sister. And that’s not fair and I know that. I love her for being Katty but sometimes I look at her and I forget.”

“Anyways I went home,” she whispers. “And a new family lives there. A mother and father and two small boys. They have a dog and one of the boys are small enough that he can ride the hound.” She smiles a little and twists her hands together, “I went to the door to ask after my father’s piano. But it’s gone the mother told me. Sold somewhere half-ways around the world to a collector named Potts. It was an antique but it was ours. He taught so many students with that piano. Me included. Sasha was always the better player though. Sasha had the future in her hands and yet I lived and I’m glad that I did.”

She coughs and twists her hands together again, “God I hate emotions. I hate that I can’t act like a normal person anymore.” He reaches out and touches the small of her back. She doesn’t jump, just sniffles and continues, voice cracking as she tries to sound nonchalant, “I listened to a song on the way back. Well a few really but one I’m going to make you listen to over and over and over until you’re sick of it. And it’s called Hysteria by Def Leppard.”

Bucky laughs a little and she turns, “Why do you smell like me, you bastard? Been stealing my soap while I’ve been away and I was overcome with horrid emotions and the like-,”

“I came here because I missed you and I didn’t want to be alone. I’m sorry I upset you on the balcony. That wasn’t my intention. You don’t have to put on a show around me Ana, you know that. If you have something to say you can say it to me. If you have a question you can ask.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“It’s because I know. It scares me that I trust you so much.”

“Would you stop running away?” It’s not accusatory and they both know it, he just needs to know she’ll be there. She glances back at him and Bucky swallows his pride to continue, “Everything is difficult when you’re here but it’s hard when you’re not.”

Ana leans close and sniffs him. “Just stop using my soap you little shit,” she says, understanding his meaning. “Well, are you going to take up the whole damn bed or are you going to move over and let me lie down in my own-,” she starts gruffly.

He scoots over and Ana stands up to go change. Once back in bed they lie shoulder to shoulder and Ana holds up her arm above them. “It healed up pretty good I’d say.” He nods, the word etched into her skin is barely visible now, and she asks, “So how was Vera?”

“I zoned out during. And I hated it besides.”

“Same,” she answers, reaching into the bedside table for a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and an ashtray. “Zoned out?” Ana asks as if for verification.

“Yeah.” She passes him a lit cigarette and tells him not to get used to it, that she doesn’t usually allow smoking in her bed. The darkness of the room twists around them, the smell of tobacco smoke somehow making everything a little better, a little safer, a little more familiar.

She blows smoke upwards and says, “When I first went to the Tavern, right after I first moved to Bucharest, I waited for a man to approach. When he did we went upstairs and I got so afraid that he wouldn’t do as I said that I started screaming and crying and hyperventilating. He hadn’t said two words to me, hadn’t touched me at all but I was still so _afraid_. That’s when Vera came and got me and for weeks after I went back and just talked to her. She never touched me until I said. She still doesn’t. I’m picky that way.”

Ana taps some ash into the tray as Bucky takes a long drag on his, “So you must have asked her for sex.”

“I did.”

“And it was still bad?”

“It hurt. And I-I was triggered  _during._  But I wanted to feel close to someone and so-,”

They smoke in silence for a while and then Ana moves the ashtray back to the bedside table and curls into his side. Her voice is quiet and smooth in the dark, curling around him, coiling safely in his heart as she murmurs, “You don’t need sex to feel close to someone.”

He closes his eyes. “I know.”

“Can I touch you?” Ana’s voice is hesitant and small.

He jolts and doesn’t answer for a moment. He’s unsure if he wants it but he also doesn’t know if it’s another test. But really he doesn’t much care as Ana murmurs to him in a sleepy voice that he can always say no. “Okay,” he says and then pauses. “But not my-,”

“Your left arm. I figured. I keep hoping that one day you might tell me what happened to you.”

Carefully she buries her face in his shoulder and pulls up his right sleeve, trailing her fingers there as she does. She rubs at his irritated skin, “Scrubbed a little hard didn’t you?” She takes her face away from his shoulder and passes her fingers over the inside of his wrist and then upwards to his clothed bicep. He remembers Vera’s hand there gripping hard as her head tipped back and her back arched off the bed. Bucky had kept her other hand pinned above her head so she couldn’t grip his arm and feel the metal, not that she really would have realized in her ecstasy.

“I felt dirty,” he answers, feeling a little breathless and a lot good. Ana hardly ever touched him skin to skin. His skin is tingling, alive. He wants more. He likes her touch, loves it in fact. It soothes away the wrong, dirty, used feeling that had settled in him since he had first stepped into Vera’s room earlier. “I think she used me.”

“You used her as well.” He nods because it’s true and focuses on her light fingertips against his skin. Gently she takes the hem of his shirt between her fingers and lifts his shirt. He jumps and his muscles contract when her hand passes over the planes of his stomach, tracing the dips and hardness of the muscles. But it feels so fucking good. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back and that’s when the touch disappears. Instead she strokes his jaw and cheeks and the stubble littered there, the curve of his ear and tip of his nose, before threading through his hair. “Feel better, Jamie?” Her hand slips back down to his jaw, thumb stroking small circles there.

His heart lurches because he hasn’t felt so good in decades, hasn't received such soft touch in so long. Vera's touch didn't even come close to  _this_ and he supposes it must be because he feels cared for. Maybe for the first time ever. And so he answers in Ukrainian, “Yes, thank you so much, my very own angel.” He takes her hand away from his face and holds it against his chest.

For once Ana has no clever response, no quick quip, and so she just smiles and closes her eyes.


	16. Paintball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“Would you just take the shot?”

“Why do I have to do it?”

Ana had scared the hell out of Bucky that morning when she had marched into his apartment, after he had had a very long shift at the diner he might add, and handed him a gun.

He had nearly thrown it to the ground in abject terror, afraid of what would happen if he kept it in his hands for too long. And then Ana had stared at him as though he were insane before everything seemed to come together in her mind.

“It’s a paintball gun.”

“Oh.”

Upon further inspection this becomes obvious. “Yeah, so come with me I have a mission for you.” And because he thinks he might love Ana he had picked the paintball gun up from the floor, swallowed his nausea at the gun and the word _mission_ , and followed her up to the roof.

Now he sits here in her makeshift sniper’s nest watching targets mill around in the street. He looks away from the scope and over at Ana. It’s hot and the July wind is high and dry. She told him on the way up that she had waited for a particularly hot day to ‘set the tone’ so it would be ‘just like a western shootout’.

“Are we expecting them to shoot back?”

Ana puts down her binoculars and slumps down against the cement balustrade. “Not really. This is just for fun.”

He rolls his eyes and sits down next to her, relieving his knees. “So have fun by yourself.”

“But you’re a good shot aren’t you? Ex-military and all that. Plus, those are the bastards that have been watching us, probably cut up my arm and hurt some other people. Why not cause a little chaos?”

When he doesn’t answer, just grips the gun tight and tries not to think about the familiar feel of it beneath his fingertips, she gives a loud dramatic sigh. “Fine I’ll have fun alone.” She holds out her hand muttering, “Always gotta do everything on my own. Stupid Katty and her stupid boyfriend. Stupid Fre and his stupid trip.” She glances over when he doesn’t move and grabs the gun. “See you later Jim.”

Lately Ana has been struggling. Bucky worked double shifts at the diner as a server now as well as a one person nightly cleaning crew. Fre has went back to Egypt for a month. And Katya has a new boyfriend that she preferred to spend her time with. Leads had suddenly dried up with her cases as she continues to seek a solitary name. And so she is alone and bored. She visits the farms at the edge of the city often now and sees Vera more than Bucky would like.

Vera, he thinks as he grits his teeth, is starting to seriously piss him off. Because _he is right there_. He can provide what she needs. He can be her touchstone. But he’s at the diner now more often than not and that’s when she goes to see Vera. It’s even more irritating as he doesn’t _need_ the money. He worked both shifts as a favor to his boss who is short a person during tourist season.

“Give me that back.”

She grins, “You never let me down.”

He doesn’t smile but he feels the corner of his mouth twitch. “Mmm,” he turns and sets the gun back up. “Who are they? Who’re we looking at?”

"They've been hired to watch the building by Vlad." The binoculars are pressed back to her face. “That one there with the green shirt and the ugly teeth.”

Bucky stares at the man through his scope, his finger hovers near the trigger, “Did he cut that word into you, _dorohyy_?” Blood seeps through his clothes, slides down his arms, curls around his hand, twists through his fingers. His finger moves to rest lightly against the cool metal of the trigger. “Did he?” His voice is a low growl.

“No,” her voice is light and peppy. “He bit me once and is probably the sole reason that I thought I had rabies two years ago.” Bucky rolls his eyes so hard that it hurts and is about to give a sarcastic reply when she says, “But he did kill a girl in a snowy alleyway and leave her there like yesterday’s trash.”

“Where?” His finger rests heavier on the trigger now.

“Right between the eyes.” He squeezes lightly, the man falls back, knocked off his feet, with a yell, yellow paint spreading across his face. No one in the street thinks to look up. “Next.”

“Red shirt, bug eyes. He helped with the word and a murder.” Pause. “Over the heart.”

Another light squeeze. Blue paint erupts over the man’s heart and he lets out a pained scream. “Next.” His voice is a growl as he reigns himself in, controls the urge to unload more paintballs onto the man, make him feel the welts they would leave.

“The last.”

“Which?”

“Cold blue eyes and blond hair.” Bucky is about to squeeze the trigger. “He escaped. I didn’t get him last time. He held me down sometimes. For the others. Left bruises all over my arms.” The rest of the clip is unloaded onto the man’s groin and chest. They duck back down behind the balustrade. Red flows over his whole body, spills from his mouth, chokes his lungs, stains his teeth. He doesn’t care. He wishes the gun in his hands were real.

Silence rings between them as people shout about calling an ambulance down below in the street. Ana links her pinky with his after she carefully pries his fingers away from the paintball gun. “I’m sorry. This was supposed to be fun. I shouldn’t have said what they did. You didn’t need to know that.”

He squeezes her pinky. “We need to go inside.”

They go back to the apartment and Ana slips out to the balcony and over to the next apartment to toss the paintball gun through the window of the empty place. When she comes back they sit at the table together and wait for the knock at the door.

Ana charms the police officer when he arrives and tells him she thinks it’s just awful what went on down in the street. The officer leans close and tells her he’s sorta glad. “Between you and me…all three of them have been identified as wanted criminals. They’re going away after this and I can’t say I’m too broken up about it.” He tips his hat and leaves, smiling at Bucky who stands a few feet back from the doorway.

When the door is closed he says, “You’re merciful. I would have killed them. I wanted to.”

She looks at him with sadness and guilt in her eyes. “I wanted to.”

 

~

 

His shift ends and Alexander tells him to go home. It happens sometimes but not often. He thinks maybe his boss can tell he’s nearly dead on his feet, that the extra shifts and the weight of his dreams are killing him.

The nightmares and memories curling around the edges of his skull had intensified recently. He can hardly function during the day, memories invading everything he does. Sleep was no reprieve as dreams and demons battled, made him sweat, made him panic. He hid it from Ana who he hoped was none the wiser. Because she would blame herself, she would know it was because of the paintball gun.

But it had been four days now. Four days with no sleep, not even a wink. And even his nightmares were preferable at this point. He trudges home in the fading summer light and prays Ana is home and not off fighting something in the dark. A tear slips out and rolls down his cheek before he hastily wipes it away. _Why_ can’t he sleep?

He’s swaying on his feet when he opens Ana’s apartment door. She’s dancing around the room to a song he doesn’t recognize and wishes that he did. She pauses mid-twirl and looks at him. “Jesus, what the hell happened to you?”

He bites his lip and continues to sway in the doorway. Someone should be angry with him. He should be able to take a little sleep deprivation-

“I, uh, sorry,” he says with a shake of his head, not sure why he’s apologizing. A memory of a man with a prod swims to the forefront of his mind.

_Well if you can’t stay awake on your own we’ll just have to make you. Electricity crackles at the end-_

Jax mewls and Puff growls and then Ana is pulling him by the wrist to the couch. “For God’s sake lie down before you kill yourself.” She shoves him down and then continues her dance, not turning down the volume and not offering to. Puff settles on his feet and Jax on his chest, both purring lovingly as a warm breeze blows over them from the open balcony door.

“What song?” He asks as he combs his fingers through Jax’s soft fur, eyes drooping closed.

“ _Africa_ by Toto,” she says. And then sings along, her awful singing voice floating through the air. His eyes close all the way, nose scrunching, as he tries to stop himself from crying.

A thick swallow and a few deep breaths later he murmurs, “I like it.”

“I knew you secretly liked my music.” He huffs out a quiet laugh.  

When the song ends she comes over and shoos the cats to the floor. Bucky turns on his side and Ana sits down, leaning back against his stomach. For a while it’s quiet as they listen to the rest of the Toto CD. Ana’s weight against him makes him feel better, good, real.

“I never should have asked you to shoot those guys. It wasn’t fair of me and I’m sorry.” Ana never apologizes to anyone and something lurches in his gut as she does for the second time.

Bucky peels his eyes open to find Ana looking down at him. “They were caught weren’t they?” She hums in agreement though they both silently wish those men were dead. “I haven’t been sleeping since.”

Ana pats his arm and sits forward, elbows against her knees, “Monsters?”

“Me.”

“Me too.” She looks guilty. “And I’m still sorry.” The CD ends and they’re plunged into silence suddenly. “You can sleep now.”

He squeezes his eyes shut as Ana turns back to him, presses a comforting hand to his shoulder. “I wish I could. I can’t.” Her hand runs over his shoulder to his back, dancing up and down his spine.

“Why?”

When he only trembles and keeps his eyes shut Ana sighs. “What the hell is it that you said to me the other day when we were both all weepy? I can say anything? Ask any question? Well this is the same. Say it to me. I’m a big girl and you’re my friend.”

It should surprise him how easy it is to let his thoughts spill from his mouth to her. But it doesn’t.

“I think it’s because I remembered how it felt to kill. What that red staining your skin feels like, what drowning in blood feels like.” His left arm itches strangely, right where he knows that awful fucking star is. “What it feels like to kill for someone you care about.” Bucky stays very still as her hand moves from his back to his face. She doesn’t stroke his jaw or rub comforting circles against his cheek but rather just lets it rest there. “I had a friend that I did it for. And I wanted to do it.” Her voice is soft when she reminds him that he didn’t kill those men. Bucky only nods against Ana’s hand. Then, heavily but reverently, he admits, “I would have though. For you. I would have killed them.”

Silence. The lights flicker a little, the air conditioning stutters out, and the warm breeze slides over them, caressing lightly. “Did your friend ask you to kill for the bad people?” She changes the subject, focusing on his past instead.

His eyes snap open. Blue meets hazel, panic and a quiet question collide. “ _No_ ,” he says adamantly. Because this is _important_. Because she needs to know. Because no one can think that of Steve. _Never_. No one. “No, no, never. Not-not him. It was before-before the bad people.”

“And what did they do to you?”

“They hurt me, Ana.” His voice is quiet and hurt, but more than that his voice is tired.

“Like I’ve been hurt?”

“And other ways. Any way you can think of, they tried it.” Bucky swallows thickly and meets her eyes, jaw clenched he mutters, “And I just want them to _stop hurting me_.”

 _A crash echoes._ _You stupid son of a- I’ll fuckin’ kill you for this. A hand connects with his face, it’s covered in something wet. He thinks it might be blood-_

Her thumb smooths down his cheek, swipes away a tear. He breathes deeply. “I’ll keep watch.” Ana’s voice is a promise, a vow. “I’ll battle them and I’ll tear them apart and I’ll make sure the dreams keep their place.”

“I know you will.” But it’s still a strange relief to hear.

“They will not hurt you again. I won’t allow it. Dreams or otherwise.” Her voice is fierce and protective. “Sleep now. I’ll fight them while you do, you deserve a rest James.”

“Thank you, Ana.” Ana nods and rests back against him, wielding the sword that Bucky had just handed her.

He closes his eyes and Ana tangles the fingers of her hand free of the nightmare slaying sword with his. “His name is Steve. My friend, my best friend. His name is Steve.” he says, tightening his fingers around hers.

“I’ll keep his name safe.”

It means everything to him that she will.


	17. Baby, History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for reading about my angst-y, odd children. 
> 
> I love you and I hope you like this chapter. As always please let me know what you think!

Ana is staring intensely at him.

He puts down the newspaper. “What?” Bucky asks tiredly.

“Well Jim-,” he absolutely hates it when she calls him Jim. James and Jamie were fine but he hates _Jim_ especially when he longs to hear her speak _Bucky_. To watch her mouth form his name and hear it spoken from her lips. But instead he gets Jim because he’s a coward. “-I was just thinking about how you call me _dorohyy_.”

“What about it?” He asks gruffly in Ukrainian. If she was about to ask him to stop calling her that he doesn’t know what he’ll do. Maybe die of embarrassment and rejection.

She kicks back in her chair across from him upsetting the dogs who are both half under the kitchen table. Snipe and Kiss heave themselves up and trot to the door, disappearing onto balcony in irritation. Bucky had been absolutely tickled to find out that the other half of the Great Danes was named Kiss.

“Since we’re married I was thinking I would call you something in English. We’re always speaking Romanian and yet the nickname you set me is Ukrainian. And _I_ thought maybe it’s because it’s my mother tongue so I should give you an English one.” She pauses and takes a bite of her breakfast, eggs and ham. “Since your mother language is English.”

He stares. Ana stares back. “We’re married?”

Ana gives him a look that makes him feel like it’s something he should have known, something that was obvious. “Why else would I let you sleep in my bed every night?” She asks through a mouthful of coffee. He notices her smirk however. She's messing with him.

Bucky plays along anyways. “You are the most confusing person I know.”

“You don’t know that many people, Jamie.”

“Even if I knew everyone in the world you’d still be the most confusing.”

She smiles widely. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Bucky starts to fold up the paper, trying to think of English pet names, something he’d like to be called, when the front door flies open and smacks back into the wall. He wonders for a moment why no one can ever open that door gently.

Katya is standing in the threshold and breathing heavily. Tears are on her cheeks. “Ana-,”

She’s already moving. “What’s wrong?” Ana meets her at the door, pulling her inside and closing the door carefully. Bucky stands and moves to stand near the girls, muscles coiling in anxiety. “Katya what’s wrong?” Ana asks the girl again when she doesn’t answer.

Katty latches onto Bucky then, her arms winding around his waist as she buries her face in his shoulder.

“Katya.” Her voice is stern, eyes hard. “What did you do?”

She scoffs as Bucky wraps him arms around her waist. “Why must I always be doing something? I have not-,”

Bucky shuffles her a few feet forward to a chair at the kitchen table. Katya scoots her chair near his, hugs him and doesn’t let go for a very long time.

Ana taps her foot against the wooden floorboards incessantly until she’s had enough. “What is it? You’re making both of us nervous.”

Ana’s jaw ticks as she sits down when Katya still doesn’t answer. When Katya finally releases Bucky several minutes later, her breathing calmed considerably, she says, “Thank you James.” He keeps his fingers slotted between hers and nods.

“We’re here, Katty.”

When Bucky had first met Katya she had terrified him. She was loud and unapologetic, often violent. She also spoke Russian in a way that made his hands sweat and his brain threaten him with memories. Now though he knows her. She’s sweet and protective, had stopped shouting in Russian when she realized how uncomfortable it made him. She always asked if she could say something in her mother tongue if she couldn’t find the words in other languages. Bucky likes her very much. He cares for her. She’s his friend.

Since he had known her she had also calmed considerably and she was always more than willing to give him touch, to be his friend. Where Ana is sometimes flighty and unreliable, Katya was always available and easy to find. And as he looks at her now he realizes how young Katya is, maybe twenty or so, with pale hair and pale eyes, smooth skin red from her distress.

Katya clutches his hand hard but looks at Ana when she says, “I’m pregnant.”

Ana reels back, eyes wide. “Fuck.” Then, “Are you sure?” Katya grabs her purse from where it had fallen on the floor and overturns it. Four positive pregnancy tests fall out. “And where is that man then?”

Bucky glares at Ana as Katya bursts into tears and collapses back into his arms. Ana raises her arms above her head in exasperation. “H-he left!” She wails and Bucky holds her a bit tighter.

“When?” Ana growls.

“Days ago.” She slips into Russian. “Days ago he left. He said he had to go and that he didn’t want me anymore or-or love me and he _left_.” She sniffles, “I think he knew somehow.”

Bucky slips his left arm under Katya’s legs and lifts her into his lap. She loops her arms around his neck and buries her face there. “He couldn’t have known, Katty.” When Katya stays silent and still Ana asks, “Could he have Katya?”

“We weren’t using protection.”

“Oh my God.” Ana’s forehead thumps down onto the table. “For fuck’s sake! How could you be so stupid-,”

“He said he loved me!”

“ _So? You still use something!_ ”

Bucky rubs Katty’s back, “Ana maybe now isn’t the time.”

“When is the time James?” Neither answers her. “Haven’t we got enough shit going on at the moment? I’m so close to the end of this thing, Christine is dying, Dalca is after me, and now you’re pregnant.”

Silence echoes through the apartment as Ana stands and knocks her chair back. “Anie-,”

“Don’t.” She paces and bites at her nails. “We can trace him. We can-,”

Katya bursts out in terrified tears. “No we can’t!”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know his last name.” And then even Bucky has to admit that Ana has a right to be angry.

Before she can have another outburst however Bucky says, “It’s okay, Katya. We’re here. You won’t be alone.” Both girls settle for a moment and then Ana sighs.

“Well figure something out. We always have.”

Katya climbs off Bucky’s lap and totters over to Ana on ridiculously high heels to hug her. She hesitates half a second before Ana opens her arms to the girl. “I love you, Ana.”

Her arms wind around Katya’s back and she sighs. “Yeah, I love you too.” Then, “I’ll always be here to take care of you.”

Katya pulls away and goes back to Bucky, “And I love you too, James.”

He pats her back and feels his throat close because he knows she means it.

 

~

 

“You said Dalca is after you,” Bucky says when Ana catches him following her. In truth he let her catch him. He wants to talk with her, walk with her, make sure she doesn’t acquire anymore bruises. Fire sears his veins at the thought of anyone with their hands on her.   

She rolls her eyes and keeps walking. “He is. That doesn’t mean it has anything to do with you.”

“Ana, I can help you.”

She comes to a halt ahead of him in the darkened street and thinks for a moment. “I don’t need a babysitter, James.”

“I’m not-,”

“Okay.”

“Why is he after you?”

She turns to him and walks to his side, looping her arm through his. “He used to be Russian Special Forces. But now he’s just crazy. He borrowed money from us but we knew he wouldn’t be able to pay it back. So when the time came we asked for something valuable as insurance and gave him one more chance. He failed again and so we kept the sword. He thought we’d keep it but we’ve given it away as we always planned to.”

“For the fruit?” He asks, remembering that morning after he had a nightmare and spent the night on Ana’s bedroom floor with Snipe.

They continue walking as she shakes her head. “No. That was a rent out,” she says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve given it to Erik, the man who made your ID’s and papers.”

Bucky mulls this over for a moment, “And why would he have need for a-,”

“His wife is also crazy but for a different reason. She has brain cancer and there’s nothing to be done about it but she believes that the sword is a cure all, or that it will at least lead her to the afterlife.” Bucky looks at Ana bewilderedly and she shrugs. “Brain cancer. But Erik loves her and wants her to be as comfortable and as secure as she can feel while she lives out her last days.”

It’s quiet as they walk for a while. Enjoying the last warmth of the summer months. “And so Dalca has the money now and wants it back,” he says, thinking of the man with the fur hat standing in Ana’s apartment so many months ago. “But Erik won’t give it back because-,”

“-because he loves his wife. Christine is the love of his life and soon she’ll be gone. He doesn’t have to give it back anyways. It was fair.”

“Erik seems to care about you a great deal too,” he says carefully.

She nods and clutches Bucky’s arm a little tighter. “It’s because I brought his daughter home with me.”

“She was there?” A silent nod. “You made sure she got home?” Another nod.

Then, “I made sure _everybody_ got home. The police sure as hell weren’t doing a good job of it.” She pauses and swallows loudly, “Not that there were many of us left.”

Bucky slides his hand down her arm and threads his fingers through hers, squeezing lightly. They don’t say anything for a moment. He doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to push. “Tell me something,” she says suddenly. “Anything. Good or bad. You hardly ever tell me anything and I’m over here selling my soul.”

He thinks, tries to think of something neutral. “I was in the military.”

“I already knew that.”

He squeezes her hand again, “You guessed. I never confirmed.”

“With your friend Steve?”

“Yeah.”

When he doesn’t continue on his own she asks, “How did you meet Steve?”

“The dumb punk was getting beaten up in an alley I happened to be passing. He was tiny and asthmatic and-,” he cuts himself off, unsure where that outburst came from.

She laughs, “And he ended up in the Army?”

“He…grew up. Grew up quite suddenly.” Steve flashes through his mind, leaning down over him at Azzano, suddenly tall and muscular.

She’s smiling, “How old?”

“I was eight so Steve must have been seven.”

“Best friends since?”

Unsure, “Yeah?” He pauses and then says it again, this time with more confidence, “Yeah.” He remembers shooting Steve, he remembers Steve falling. But Bucky also remembers pulling him out of the river and making sure someone was close to finding him before moving on. Never, would he have let Steve die on that riverbank, never. At least when he was himself. The Soldier wanted to kill him but even that had been confusing. A dull throb starts in the back of his head.

They walk and no one bothers them but he thinks they might be watched. He doesn’t like the feeling. “I didn’t have many friends growing up. But I always had my sister.”

“Sasha?”

“Yeah.”

“What was she like?”

Ana pulls her fingers away from his and twists to meet his eyes. “Nu-uh. What was _Steve_ like?”

“Is,” he corrects. “What _is_ Steve like.”

“Okay,” she says apologetically. “What’s Steve like?”

He thinks for a moment as they walk, reaching back over to take her hand almost subconsciously. Really he knows what he’s doing, craves the feeling of her hand in his. “Stubborn. Smart. Loyal. Kind.”

“You sound like you’re listing groceries,” she teases. But when he just swallows thickly and doesn’t say anymore she says, “Sasha was sweet. Everyone loved her and she could sing so beautifully. And she could play the piano even better. Dad always loved her for it. But he also loved me and mom because we were shit at it.” She looks at him with wide, warm hazel eyes and he cracks. Cracks under one look. He thinks he’s absolutely hopeless, knows it in fact.

Something feels like it’s stuck in his throat but he manages to choke out, “Steve draws. He used to draw. I don’t know if he still does. I hope he does.” She squeezes his hand, warm and small against his. “He’s also a little _shit_.” His voice is gruff, “And stupid.” Now his head is _really_ starting to hurt, his chest too and so he clears his throat and asks, “Why do you help Erik? You rescued his daughter-,”

“I do things because I feel like they’re the right thing to do,” she interrupts a little harshly. Then more softly, “Erik helped me get my papers when I got here. I didn’t want to go back to the Ukraine. It’s where my parents died and my sister was murdered and so many bad things happened to me. And because I brought his daughter home he helped me and let me stay with them for a time. Katya too when she arrived. Although Katya doesn’t really believe in repaying debts and so I do it for her.”

“How old were you then?”    

She thinks for a moment, “Seventeen. Katya was fourteen.”

Shock twists his features. He knew that Ana was taken young but Katya- “So, Katty was-,”

“Twelve.” Her voice is quiet and sad. “And you know I was fifteen.”

He stops and pulls her into his chest. Ana is stiff against him for a moment and he can feel her start to pull back, flinch away, when she stops and grips him back. “Thanks,” she says against his shoulder.

“No one’s following you tonight, are they?”

“No. I just like to walk sometimes. And I like spending time with you. I like it when you tell me things. I like when I can see you figuring things out about me.”

He thinks for a moment, tries to ignore the warmth in his chest and pulls away from her. They start walking again, this time in the direction of the apartment. “Sometimes the things you do require a little explaining.” _Or a lot._ “Then it makes sense. Then it doesn’t seem so…crazy.” The sword and the angry bear of a man named Erik, the strange rattling of the pots when he first arrived, the weird hours, the music. It was all starting to make sense. Ana’s edges became a little less blurry every day. She’s coming into focus and becoming more confusing all at the same time.

Because sometimes an answer only leads to more questions, sometimes more complicated than the original.

He loves it. She’s like a strange sort of puzzle. Bucky suspects he might be the same to her.

Ana frowns, “Well that’s it with anything isn’t it? Nothing makes sense until someone explains it to you. Until you ask.”

Bucky wraps an arm around her back and pulls her close, she falls easily into it this time. He hopes when the times comes that she’ll listen, that she’ll let him explain who he is and not run away.


	18. Fre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! I have no good excuse, only that I really liked this one and really, really wanted to post it. 
> 
> I hope you guys like it as much as me. Thanks for reading. :)

A month later Fre is back from Egypt and dragged to a bar with Ana.

Fre sips his beer and watches one large sweaty man slug another. He grimaces and glances over at Ana who is flirting with the bartender on the far side of the bar. Really he hates it when she brings him to shady places like these. Dark, dank bars where people drink and fight and the law is hardly something that any of them understand.

He really doesn’t like it when Ana doesn’t stay next to him.

Their stares are accusatory. His skin is dark and his language strange. The back of his neck prickles and he knows someone is staring at him or talking about him and he wishes desperately that he were invisible. Still he straightens his spine and hardens his features. He’s proud to be Egyptian, proud of his skin, and no amount of someone else’s discomfort was going to change that. Still, he thinks, it would be nice to see someone that looked like him in this endless sea of white. The farther east in Europe he had gone the less diversity he had tended to see which in turn inspired more staring. But this is where he had settled because of Ana. He would move eventually but for the time being he’s right where he’s supposed to be.

Ana hops back up on the stool next to him and sips her drink. The prickling feeling goes away. “So,” she starts. “What do you think?”

“Hit the targets exactly?”

“Exactly,” she mutters, peeling the label away from the beer bottle between her hands. “It scared me a little. The way he let loose on the last one.”

Fre sighs through his nose and says, “You trust this man. I trust him. Katya trusts him. But he’s also…fiercely protective of you.” He meets Ana’s light eyes, “I don’t think you can expect anything else from him when you tell him that that man was someone that hurt you.”

"He said he'd have killed them if I'd have asked." Fre doesn't say anything and so Ana knows what his answer to that is. She chews her lip and glances around the bar. “Sorry for bringing you here again.”

He shrugs. “James cares for you. He would do anything for you and in fact already has. As for the targets, well, he’s ex-military and definitely a sniper. You can’t fault him for doing his job.”

“No, I suppose not.” Ana twists her hands together and considers telling Fre how she thinks this whole thing has gone a little too far. Instead of being direct she says, “He’s gotten a little too close don’t you think? A little too comfortable?”

The question sits on the bar between them, all the implications of it pouring off it. Fre takes her hand gently and says, “I think you have gotten too comfortable. I think you let him in and now you can’t stop letting him in.”

“I told him about Sasha.”

“Shit.”

It’s silent between them for a while when Ana says, “Katya is pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” He takes a sip of beer. “That’s new.”

“The father is in the wind. She won’t hear of an abortion.”

Fre looks over at Ana. He sees the way her hands shake and her mouth trembles. “Looks like we’re having a baby.” A pause stretches between them, “You don’t have to carry the world. I’m here.”

“And thank God for that.”

He watches her hands twist together again, “Jesus, what else did I miss?”

“Dalca is looking for me. Wants me to pay because he defaulted and we didn’t keep the sword. Christine is dying. She won’t go to a hospital, only talks to that healer that says the sword is a cure all relic.” She pauses, “Erik lets it happen because she’s dying and he loves her. The bartender still won’t give up the name we need. And Vlad has stopped moving the girls around so…” She trails off. None of them can be found for the moment.

Fre nods, “We’re fucked.”

“Generally.”

A man approaches them, smelling worse than the bar around them, “I don't like the way you speak. Speak Romanian.” Ana scans him and looks to Fre.

Fre shrugs and shakes his head a little, and continues in Arabic, “I think he has a problem with my language.”

“I think so too.”

“Hey,” the man sways and points a beer in Ana’s face. “You fucking treacherous bitch. Making friends with terror-,”

Ana slugs him and Fre jumps up.

They’re thrown out of the bar together when the fight ends and have a night on their balcony like they used to do. Just the two of them and the dogs. They drink until the sun comes up. Then they nap in the August morning dawn, delicate fingers of light tracing their skin.

Right as the sun is rising, rays of light slanting over their faces, Fre looks over and asks, “So what are we gonna do about all of it?”

Ana just smiles.

 

~

 

Bucky answers the knock on his door heavily. His head hurts and sleep is still difficult. Ana stands on the threshold. She smiles and twirls in a circle, “Care to patch me up, oh medically skilled one?”

“Shut up.” He motions her inside. “Got a smoke?”

“I have to pay now?” He rolls his eyes as she pulls out a pack and sticks one in her mouth. He watches as her lips wrap around the cigarette, as her cheeks hollow when she inhales flicking the lighter over the end. The cigarette is offered to him as she blows smoke toward his ceiling. “Here you go, friend of mine.”

He takes it and Ana turns to open his balcony door. “Sit down,” he says gruffly. “What happened?”

Ana sits at the table and spins some tale about a bar fight and defending Fre’s honor. He rolls his eyes and works on bandaging her hands with delicate care, cigarette held between his lips. “Been seeing Vera?” Bucky tries to ignore the flame of excitement in his gut. Ana noticed.

He looks up and shrugs. “Sometimes.”

“She marks you up pretty good,” she observes, reaching out to run her hand over the blue and purple splotches Vera left on his neck. He jerks at the touch and then settles. He closes his eyes at the contact before it disappears again. But, to his immense disappointment, she doesn’t seem jealous.

He had seen Vera again and hated every moment. It’s actually been more than one time and he doesn’t know why he goes back, maybe to make Ana jealous, maybe because he wants to prove something to himself. He goes and they fuck and when he comes he hates himself. And now he began allowing her to mark him and he hates it even more. HYDRA had been fond of choking him, of denying him air, laughing when he blacked out and came to and they were inside him. So when Vera sucks painful bruises onto his neck he can’t help but be reminded. But he had let her so Ana would see.

And she doesn’t care.

He feels stupid. Why would she care?

“You know if you can’t sleep you don’t have to exhaust yourself doing something you hate,” she says worriedly. “You can come upstairs and stay with us. Katty and Fre are there full time anyways. You stay a lot anyways and one more person can’t hurt. You don’t have to let her hurt you to feel.” She sounds wretched, almost betrayed.

They stare at each other.

Bucky bandages her hands.

 

~

 

“Right, ah-fuck! Right there!” Vera comes with a cry and Bucky follows not long after.

He rolls off of her and closes his eyes, pain wracking his head and spine, as he fights back the nausea and self-hatred. Her hand is on his cock, stripping him of the condom that she ties off and takes to the trash. He listens as she putters around the bathroom and then flicks out the lights. “And?”

He swallows as Vera lays her head against his clothed chest and he rubs her spine.

 _Ana Ana Ana Ana Ana_. His mind chants. Guilt hits him even harder. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t know why he comes back. What was he try to prove to himself? That he's okay? That he can take it? It's stupid. He knows it is and sinks just a little further into his self-loathing.

“It still hurts.”

Silence. Her skin is soft, nipples pert as they brush against his side. Her raven hair lies flat down her back, settling somewhere near her narrow hips. “Ana said to me to stop bruising you.” Her mouth had not went near his neck this time.

His heart hammers against his chest. “Why?”

“She says you don’t like it and she worries for you. She asked me why you would do that to yourself if you hate it. I wonder why you didn’t tell me. I never wanted to hurt you, never meant to.” When Bucky doesn’t answer Vera smiles against him and says, “To make her jealous?” Still nothing. “You love her and that’s okay. You hate me because Ana still comes to me. But what you don’t know is that she no longer allows me to touch her. She told me she has someone. Someone that steals into her bed and knows where to touch her without her explicit guidance, knows how to hold her and make her feel safe. Someone who seems to know her very soul. She loves you. She just doesn’t know how to say it.” Vera pauses. "This isn't good for your metal health either way."

He doesn’t say anything again, just strokes her back, as he thinks. “I think I’m going to stop coming to you as well.” He loves Ana. He shouldn’t be here with Vera. “I love her.” He may never tell her that but he knows it’s true.

“I figured. It’s been a good summer with you anyways. I’m always glad when you come to visit.”

He nods even though he doesn’t agree. He wants to be at home with the cats and Ana and Katya and Fre. He knows that they’re probably making dinner and arguing right at this moment just like a proper family.

He thinks about how he and his Ma and his sisters used to do the same. Even when Steve was over because he was family too.

“I have to go.”

Vera nods and scoots away from him. He dresses in the dark and doesn’t say goodbye when he leaves.

 

~

 

They _are_ arguing when he steps through the door, shouting and carrying on like they don’t live in an apartment block.

“James!”

“He’s come for dinner! Come here. Stay for a while why don’t you?”

“I’ll get you a beer.”

Katya’s feet land in his lap when he sits as Fre goes to fetch a beer. Ana just smiles gently. Her mouth and cheek are bruised.

He loves them.

He has less than eight months left with them.

 

~

 

Later that night Ana is helping Katya to bed, who is now about two months along. Her morning sickness is horrid and never in the morning. She’s tired and nauseous and irritable. Irritable both from the morning sickness and the fact that Ana no longer allowed her to consume alcohol. Most of all though she’s heartbroken. Her baby’s father has not returned and Katya seems convinced that he probably never will.

She cries a lot, understandably so, and Bucky is often subjected to her tears on his shirt. Not that he minds. It’s endearing and comforting and downright baffling at times that they all trusted him enough to be so close to them.

Especially Ana.

He decides to wait for Ana on her balcony, to smoke and to wait and ask if he might stay with her again. He feels safer sleeping here but he also likes keeping them all close. Just in case.

Fre is there already, sitting on the balustrade and smoking a cigarette. His feet hang over the edge and he turns when he hears the door open and close. Bucky just stands in the darkness there for a moment and watches the end of Fre’s smoke flare. “Want one?” He asks as he turns back to staring out at the city. “All the way from Egypt. The best blend in my opinion but I may be a little biased.”

Bucky walks to the railing and leans there, nods at Fre. Deft fingers shake some loose tobacco from a small tin and go about rolling up a smoke. “No filter,” he comments.

His smile is sharp. “Yeah they keep saying these might kill me one day.” He takes a drag on his own, “But they’re just too good.”

Bucky borrows Fre’s lighter and then they smoke and watch the city again. They hear Katya crying and Ana’s soft reassurances.

“It’s getting cold again. I hate the cold. This country gets so cold in the winter.”

“You’re from Egypt?”

“Yes. And it never gets cold there. Not like here it doesn’t.”

Bucky takes a drag on his hand rolled cigarette and hums. “It’s good.”

He smirks, “I’m glad you agree.”

It’s silent for a while as a wind picks up, the early October air already carrying a bite. “Could I ask you something?”

Fre looks over slowly, smoke furling from his nostrils as he stubs out the cigarette. “I suppose you could, though I may not answer.”

“How did you meet Ana? How did you end up here?”

He turns and leans against the cement pillar, one foot hanging over the railing, as he carefully looks over Bucky. “I ended up here because I was running away from a monster called war. And I stayed here because of Ana.”

A familiar flicker of jealous lashes through him but then Fre continues and it goes away entirely. “I was…traveling around Europe. Trying to find a place I belonged. Somewhere I could stay a while. I was poor. I had no money left. I felt like I had been everywhere and seen everything. I saw fighting in Libya and Egypt and Syria. I tried to make a home in Morocco. I’d seen Paris and London and Lebanon. I heard east was harder for people who looked like me but I had nothing to really lose.”

He swallows and his mouth twitches as he starts to roll another cigarette. “I was sitting in a train station. It was closed really, no more trains running for the night. No one had wanted to help me during the day. I had a thick accent then and no one could be bothered to try and hear me, understand me.”

“There was a girl there around my age. She had a bloody nose and dark brown hair and eyes like the sun. She came over to me. She had no reason to. It was cold and dark and anything could have happened. But still she came over to me and sat at my bench and pulled out some money. She whispered to me that she had just enough for one candy bar from the vending machine and that she hadn’t eaten in a few days and that I looked the same.”

He lights the smoke and closes his eyes as he takes a drag. “And it was true. I hadn’t eaten in three days. I had only enough for a train ticket and I couldn’t spare it. She told me her name and that she was going to find her friend, that her friend was in trouble and she shouldn’t have left her behind. She said she was coming from Romania. And she listened to me when I spoke. She let me stumble through the words and helped me when I didn’t have them. Ana is very good with languages and people. I’ve never seen someone learn them like her. She’s so smart James.” His forehead creases but his eyes stay closed, “Even if she pretends not to be.”

Bucky stays quiet and lets Fre collect his thoughts. “She bought the candy bar with her remaining money. And she gave me the bigger piece when she broke it in half.” His voice cracks on the last word. “And I let her give me the bigger piece. Because I was so fucking hungry. She smiled and told me that she used to love trains. That she and her father would ride them just to see the countryside.”

“And I told you,” A voice interrupts from the doorway. “That I was a mean son of a bitch and that I had been fighting half of Eastern Europe for a month because I was a coward.”

Fre smiles and opens his eyes. He looks at Bucky, “And she said that.”

“Coward?”

“I made Katya go home. Even though she didn’t want to. She said her family was evil, worse than the men who kept us. I didn't believe her, said she needed to be with them. I…was imposing my own views of family on her. But when I got word that…that they were the ones that gave her away…that they were hurting her. Well I-I had to get her. I had to bring her home, I had to bring her here.”

“Before you can ask,” Fre says. “Yeah, that’s how I met Katya.”

He meets Ana’s eyes, “Gave her away?”

“I believe her father owed someone money. And he didn’t have it.”

Bucky’s fists clench. Ana walks past him and hugs Fre. “I’m glad you stayed with me.”

He coughs roughly and pushes her away slightly, “Yeah well. I owed you one for that candy bar.”

“It was just a candy bar.”

“No. It wasn’t,” Fre says quietly.

Bucky thinks about the first bowl of soup Ana gave him, the time by the heater, the time with the cats, the mixtape at New Years. No, he thinks, it wasn’t just a candy bar. Just like it wasn’t just a bowl of soup or warmth or companionship or music. It was humanity.

He looks at her as she smiles lopsidedly at Fre in confusion and he knows she has no idea what she does. His throat closes, his chest tightens, his eyes burn. Ana asks them if they would like dessert.  

 


	19. Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!

The bed is empty when he wakes one cold October morning. Ana’s side of the bed even colder. Since he stopped seeing Vera he had been staying with Ana nearly all the time. Bliss floods his system, happiness.   

He likes it here. He likes having people to be with, likes being with Ana most of all.

It’s comfortable and good.

But he has a forbidding feeling in his gut this morning. Things have been _too_ good. Nothing good can last, especially when it comes to him. He thinks about Ana then and her inherent goodness and he _knows_ it can’t last because he doesn’t deserve to have it last.

The door cracks open and Katya’s white-blonde head sticks in. She smiles, “Good morning, James.”

“Morning Katty.” His voice is rough and low from sleep which makes her frown and open the door wider. She’s showing now, just a little, her belly starting to scoop out a shape.

She closes the door behind her as she moves to sit on the bed, perching on the edge. “Are you okay?” He nods as she reaches over to push one hand through his hair. Usually she would let her hand linger but today she takes it back and fists it tightly in her lap.  

She speaks in Russian then and it doesn’t bother him at all. “Well,” she clears her throat and wiggles nervously as he sits up. “Well, I have an appointment today for the baby.” One of her hands goes to her small bump protectively. “And I wanted to know if you would come? Ana and Fre come but they are very annoying and prank other patients in the waiting room. Last month they bought chocolate cake just to put it in the chair of a nurse they don’t like.”

“Did he sit on it?”

Ana sighs heavily, “Yes.” She glances down at her hands again as Bucky suppresses a laugh with a cough. “And the woman at the front desk always asks me who the father is and then I have no answer. It’s embarrassing. She always asks Fre and he says no. And Ana just gets protective and angry.”

Bucky covers her fisted hand with one of his. “Of course I’ll come Katya.” Knowing absolutely nothing about pregnancies Bucky asks, “Will you get to know the gender?”

“No, not for two more months. Maybe a little less.” She frowns at her hands again, dejected and down, a decidedly un-Katya look. He decides right then to google basic information about pregnancies later, and then to buy a baby book, figuring it was probably better to be prepared.

“I’ll go to every appointment if you want Katya.”

Their foreheads knock together when she unexpectedly hugs him hard. “I love you, James. You are the best thing to ever happen to me and Anie.”

He hugs her back, mindful of her middle, and whispers, “Yeah, I love you too.” Although he’s doubtful about being the best thing that’s ever happened to them.

“And Ana?” Her voice is strangely cautious because she knows it’s a different kind of love.

He closes his eyes, “Yeah, and Ana.”

“I will not tell.”

“Thank you.”

 

~

 

The glasses the woman wears make her look like a giant insect. She’s peering at the bunch of them with utmost scrutiny. “Well,” she starts loudly, impressive beehive hairdo tilting wildly. “Is this him then?” It’s the same question she’s asked of Fre the previous two appointments.

Katya squirms uncomfortably as Fre opens his mouth to say no, and Ana coils tightly, ready for a fight when Bucky interrupts them, “No, I am. I’m the father.”

Her eyes slash to find him, evaluating him. God, he hates that feeling, the feeling of being a bug under a microscope. “ _Him_? Oh my Lord, sweetheart. The aura on this one…” She makes a disapproving _tsk_ ing noise. “Poor child. Doomed probably.”

“Yes, he is the father,” Katya says proudly, looping her arm through his. He meets Ana’s eyes over Katya’s head, a soft smile is playing on her lips. He drops a quick wink to her before standing his ground, looking the woman defiantly in the eyes where before he might have avoided her gaze at all cost.  

The woman chews her gum loudly and rolls her eyes. “Well I guess it’s too late _now_.” Her beady eyes rove over to Ana and Fre. “And you two idiots! Don’t think I won’t call security! The waiting room is not a playground. These are _patients_.”

Bucky thinks that’s rather rich coming from the woman who harasses a girl about her unborn baby’s father every time she has an appointment.

Ana snorts and the woman checks them in. “Thank you,” Katya whispers in his ear, stretching on her tippy-toes so she can do so. Ana and Fre do bother the other people in the waiting room but none of them seem too troubled by it. In fact they seem to like the distraction. Ana’s jokes and Fre’s stories do however cause the people to get loud, laughter and voices echoing around the usually quiet and sterile space.

He sits with Katya who curses Ana and Fre under her breath while never letting go of Bucky’s hand. They all go into the examination room when its time. Katya introduces him as her husband to the tech and the doctors and nurses, and complains loudly about her sister and brother-in-law: Ana and Fre. They both look scandalized at first but play along all the same.  

She’s healthy, the baby is healthy, and everything looks the way it’s supposed to and Bucky releases a tense breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

By the time they get home Katya is exhausted and needs a nap. They drop Bucky off by his door and when Fre and Katya are down the hall and going up the steps Ana takes his hand in hers, squeezes it tight, and then kisses his cheek.

His skin feels hot where her lips touched and he knows he’s blushing. “It’s Halloween, James.”

“I know.”

“Come for dinner.”

It’s unspoken between them. Stay for dinner, stay with me tonight. “Okay.” He says.

She smiles and he almost smiles back. “I’ll see you later.”

She skips down the hall away from him and his earlier feeling of dread only grows.

 

~

 

 Later that evening the foreboding feeling comes to fruition. He’s changing his shirt, thinking a walk around the city in the cool air will help his pounding heart and the anxiety that had wormed into his soul since that morning, when the door opens.

He’s gotten lax. He wasn’t paying attention to the footsteps on the stairs because those steps mean love and goodness, not danger, not fear. And then the door opens and his heart stops. As if in slow motion he turns, his shirt held in his hands. Ana is talking, hand on the doorknob as her eyes raise from the floor to meet his.

Her eyes stop at his shoulder though, his arm. The sound of her voice fades away, whisked off on some phantom wind. _Hey Jamie I just wanted to say thank you so much for taking care of Katya like that today. She always gets so upset because-_

The gaze on his shoulder floats up to meet his eyes. Her hand is still on the doorknob. She’s still as a stone suddenly.

“No,” he chokes out. “Ana.” He’s desperate suddenly. It can’t happen like this, end like this. His heart is somewhere in his stomach, raging against him and making him nauseous. He can’t breathe and the only thing he can think is _no_.

She blinks, looks at his arm again. Everything shifts together in her mind then and her grip tightens on the door. He can hear her heartbeat pick up, can hear the distress in the way her breathing pattern changes.

“Ana.” His voice is low and hurt and afraid. “Please.”

He raises his hands somewhere around his shoulders to show he won’t harm her. 

Shock, horror, terror flashes across her face. Or he thinks it does. He isn’t sure, his brain is scrambled. All he knows is that’s what _should_ be written there and so it is.

Still she doesn’t look at him. But she swallows and trembles and he can see the wheels in her brain turning. He knows that look. He’s seen that terrified calculation before. In himself and his victims and in Marie and now-

“Ana!”

She slams the door. Her footsteps carry her downstairs, fast and light and terrified.

Maybe he should run. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t put his shirt on, it slips out of his hand and pools on the floor near his feet, and decides to let come what may. He collapses on his mattress and lets the cold seep into the apartment through the open balcony door.

Something in him wants to claw and rip at the metal attached to his mutilated skin, because really that’s what all this is about. It’s what makes him special, what makes him valuable, maybe it’s what kept him alive all these years. But instead of running all he does is close his eyes. He’s so tired. And maybe now is the time to give up. He’s been fighting for so long.

His skin is ice cold when he falls asleep. He’s never felt more alone or unwanted. Because he was right, no one wants to understand a monster.

 


	20. Tell Me Please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to know what you think! Thank you for reading!

Ana comes back a few hours later. Her heart hurts, aches for James, as does her head. She’s confused but she knows she shouldn’t have run off like that, knows she shouldn’t have by the way his eyes widened, by the fear that had radiated from his very being.

The Winter Soldier had been terrified of her. Petrified even. And she’s afraid now, as she approaches James’s door, that he’s been spooked and run, run off to hide somewhere else in the world, in some other tiny apartment, with some other version of herself. Ana’s heart gives a painful throb as she taps at the door. Her throat tightens when there’s no answer.

Tentatively she twists the handle and peaks into the room. He’s sitting up, still without his shirt on, metal arm glinting in the low light of the room. It’s freezing and so she quickly comes inside and closes the door.

“James?” She asks, teeth chattering. The motionlessness of his body is scaring her. It’s like he’s waiting for the executioner’s block. It’s like he’s waiting for the end. “I need your help,” she whispers, touching the blood on the side of her shirt but she gets no sympathy, only a hard voice.

“When are they coming?”

Her voice trembles as she asks, “Who?” Never has he acted this way toward her. Cold, uncaring. Even when they had first met he had been merely aloof, trying hard to hide that he cared, that he enjoyed her company.  

“The police.” His voice is emotionless and Ana decides that she’s done with this bit of acting. There is no world where she cares to be the trembling maiden at the door. She marches through the apartment and closes his balcony door where a fierce wind had been whipping through the place, casting a chill throughout. She replaces her fear that he would leave with anger.

She moves to the side then and starts going through his cabinets, violently shoving aside objects in her rage, looking for wine and ingredients for soup. “No police are coming.”

“Why?”

Ana whips around and points a can of peas at him threateningly. “Because you’re still _James_.” Her voice trembles. “And maybe you have a little more to explain but I figure if you were here to _assassinate me_ you would have done so by now.” The tone of her voice is laden with disbelief, incredulity.

It’s silent and tense as she turns back to the counter and pulls out a pot. Two cans of peas are dumped into it before she goes about covering them in water. “I didn’t want you to find out like this. I-I was planning to tell you. I just didn’t want you to-,” He can’t finish that sentence because his heart already knows it’s true.

When he doesn’t continue Ana places the pot on the stove and turns on the burner. Then she moves to the kerosene heater and turns that on as well. Ana stomps back across the room picks up his shirt from where it had fallen on the floor earlier that evening and holds it out to him. “Didn’t want me to what?” Her voice is soft and her hands raw and pink, scabbing and injured.

“Hate me.” It’s whispered and hangs in the air between them, fragile and small, before it falls, shatters in the space between their feet. Ana leans forward and hugs him when he takes the shirt in his hand. He shivers hard, his naked skin brushing against her bare forearms, against the material of her soft shirt. The back of his throat is burning, he doesn’t deserve this. She should hate him, she should hit him. He tricked her and he should be punished. Bucky stiffens in her arms and waits but she only keeps her arms around him.

He relaxes, but only slightly.  

She lets go too quickly for his liking and demands he put his shirt on, that it’s cold. Then she asks if she can smoke and he answers only if he’s allowed to sneak one from her. Ana sits next to him on his bed but they don’t touch. They smoke in silence until Ana has to get up and poke around at the soup, mashing the peas and adding whatever spices he might have on the counter. Bucky’s pretty sure she isn’t making it right. But then again that’s just her way.

It’s only then that he notices the blood on her shirt.

He mentions it, his voice a hard growl, because someone laid their hands on her, someone hurt her _again_ , but Ana only answers that they both have some explaining to do.

 

~

 

“So, you’re a murderer. That’s your secret.” Blunt, and why shouldn’t she be? Ana and Bucky are at his table, soup before each of them, though neither of them touch it.

He flinches and tugs nervously at his sleeves. He had put his shirt back on and his singular glove. Ana hadn’t been gawking or even looking, he just felt better this way. Besides she had told him to put it on and it _was_ cold. An ache has started in his shoulder where metal meets flesh. “Not-,” Bucky had been about to say _not exactly_. But that isn’t true. Ana has it right. Essentially that is his secret. “Yes,” he murmurs, looking down at the table, trying very hard not to meet her eyes. Shame, guilt, embarrassment twist inside him.

“Bullshit.”

Her hands are bleeding, dripping rivulets onto the table. The ever-present wounds had scabbed open again from the dry, cold autumn air and Ana’s constant twisting of her fingers since they had sat down. She’s been picking too, a nervous habit of hers. He’s just glad it isn’t like that day the word was cut into her arm. The amount of blood dripping down her forearm that day still haunts him.  

“What?” Confusion laces his tone, head tilting to the side.

“I said that’s bullshit. Now the last time I was in school I was fifteen and I wasn’t too keen on history. American or otherwise. So, I need you to tell me what happened. I know the basics. But I really-,” she pauses and swallows thickly. “-I really can’t imagine that you are what I’ve been told you are. Not when I know you as James.”

When he doesn’t answer she leans forward and says, “But I don’t know much about _you_ as him and I certainly don’t know _your_ side of things. History lies sometimes.”

Still he says nothing, can’t make himself meet those eyes, warm and hazel and home. “When I was a kid you were a nightmare.” That gets his attention. He looks up, a question in his eyes, brows furrowing. “Parents told their children that if they misbehaved the Soldier would come for them. Drag them away never to be seen again. You’re a Russian nightmare, a Russian terror tactic.”

“Well it’s accurate.”

She frowns and then her emotions well up in her throat. It feels tight and awful. The backs of her eyes burn. “James, _please_ , tell me something.” And when he says nothing again Ana whispers, “Say whatever you planned to say. Just please say something. I meant it when I said you’re still James but please, I need to hear something.” She touches his arm, “You haven’t changed in my eyes. How could you? You mean something to me and you’ve been nothing but kind.” Fingers tighten slightly. “Please?”

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes.” His heart lurches as he begins his speech, the words seemingly tugged right out of his throat by an invisible force. He had imagined saying this to her before, but Bucky really never thought he would get the chance to _actually_ say it to her. “I was born in 1917 and drafted for the US Army in 1942. I was supposed to have died in 1945. I was the Winter Soldier for many years. I didn’t want to do those things but I did them. _Please_ don’t hate me.” He shakes his head and looks down. “God, please, _dorohyy_ , please don’t hate me.”

“Did they brainwash you?” She remembers that word on the news. Remembers Steve Rogers, the man out of time, on the news defending what everyone around the world called a terrorist and a lost cause besides.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Electrocution. Drugs.” His mouth trembles, “Negative reinforcement. Corporal punishment-,”

“So they fried your brain and beat you?” A nod. “Those fake SHIELD people?” There is a quiet anger in her voice, one that surprises him. Shouldn’t she hate him? Shouldn’t she tell him he only got what he deserved?

“HYDRA.” He corrects quietly, not sure why it matters. They were after all practically one and the same.  

Ana slides her hand down his arm takes his hand in hers. “Tell me your story before I have to google it. And you know they can’t lie on the internet so I’ll be forced to believe whatever I read.”

It makes him laugh, if only a little. He hiccups. There are tears on his cheeks.

Her hands are still bleeding. There’s still unexplained blood on her shirt.

Ana says he’s not patching her up until she knows everything.

 

~

 

So Bucky tells her everything. She knows the beginning. Practically everyone knows the beginning. Because the beginning is Steve and the serum and everyone knows that story. Everyone knows the story of Captain America.  

She doesn’t know about the train, hardly anything at all about HYDRA. However she doesn’t question anything, doesn’t interrupt, just gazes at him with attentive eyes. Ana doesn’t accuse him of anything, doesn’t tell him he’s wrong, that what happened is impossible.

Eventually he comes to the end of it, to the end of the torture and mutilation and rape and invasion of his person and life in every way, the loss of his memories. He’s shaking and he doesn’t know how to stop. He can’t remember what it is to be still, to not feel nauseous. Her hand doesn’t leave his. And Ana doesn’t apologize, doesn’t treat him like glass. She also doesn’t mock him or harass him or sneer at him which is what he was expecting. But Ana is kind and so it’s like every other day they’ve had together. Only this time its Bucky spilling his guts and talking and talking and _talking_ , and not Ana.

At the end of it, with him showing up on her doorstep, she calls him a little shit and lets him see her tears. The shaking stops just a little.

“There’s one other thing,” he murmurs when she stops sniffling. Still afraid to meet her eyes he stares at her hands. He shouldn’t ask, knows he shouldn’t, that he’s pushing his luck. “My name is Bucky.” He flips their hands so he’s cradling her bloody one. His heart gets stuck in his throat, his lips are dry, his throat like sandpaper, “Uh, and I-I would really like it if you called me by my name. I know I don’t deserve-,”

“Bucky,” she whispers, trying it out on her tongue. Bucky closes his eyes in bliss. It’s better than he ever imagined. He wants to hear her say it again. “Now that sounds right. That matches. I knew James wasn’t quite right and _John_ definitely never was.”

He opens his eyes and stands, reluctantly letting go of her hand, so he can get the first aid kit to patch her up. “You don’t hate me?” Bucky asks quietly when he sits back down and takes one injured hand in his.

It’s quiet and he doesn’t dare look up from where he’s cleaning her hands. His fingers shake. She hates him. _James. James. Bucky? Jamie? Bucky?_

“Bucky?” He looks up. “Why would I hate you? Especially after _that_ sob story?”

He chokes out a short laugh, “Thank God for your good humor.” A smile is on her face as he wraps her hands in gauze.

She scoffs, “It’s not like _you_ have any.” A tear splats onto the table. “Look at what you do to me. Have you always made women cry?”

“Only the pretty ones.”

“Shut up.”

 _Relief_. 

 

~

 

They sit there like that for a long time until Ana casually asks if he might stitch her side up, that it’s really starting to itch.

He reprimands her for not saying anything sooner and goes about doing that. Ana only leans over and kisses his cheek when he crouches next to her chair. She sits up and lifts her shirt, “Thanks Nurse Bucky. Also I’m still glad you moved in downstairs, hobo man.” Bucky, no matter how glad he is for the reassurance, isn’t sure he believes it.

“What happened to you?” He asks as he assesses her side. The wound isn’t deep or that terribly bad and so he skips the stitches and goes to wrapping it instead, cleaning it first.

“Dalca brought a knife to a fist fight.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yeah alright.”

“I was out walking and thinking and he saw me and yelled something quite vulgar and slashed at me. He really wants that sword and I would have gladly had a fight with him were I not doing something important.” She pauses and reaches down to caress his face where he’s stooped by her chair. “I was chasing someone.”

He stops, fingertips grazing her middle, “Who?” Ana’s gentle fingers feel so good against the rough stubble of his cheek. The softness is felt two fold, especially since he’s still half waiting for her to hit him, for the punishment he deserves. But, and he knows this but his pain conditioned body does not, Ana would never intentionally hurt him. She’d likely die first.

“The man I’ve been looking for. The man who knows who Vlad is. The one who can bring home the rest of the girls.”

“What happened to the others? They were so spread out but you said before that-,”

“-the empire is collapsing. All of them have been moved to Romania as it has been used as the base.” She strokes her fingers down his cheek and then removes her hand. “He ran away and I chased him and Dalca ruined everything over some stupid sword.”

Bucky pictures it for a moment. Ana finding the person she’s been looking for and giving chase only to be stopped by a fight with a delusional ex-Soviet Special Forces person. He shakes his head, because it makes sense somehow. “Take me with you next time.”

“Well pal I hate to break it to you but it was kind of a spur of the moment thing and we were in the middle of something at the time anyways.” She pauses as he finishes taping the gauze. "So, Bucky, that’s a nice name.” Ana lets her shirt fall to cover the dressing.

“Shut up.”

She frowns and her voice is sincere and concerned when she speaks. “I’m being serious. It suits you. I like it a lot.” When he doesn’t answer her, just stays crouched on the floor next to her chair she says, “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Yeah.” He’s breathless. Why would she want to stay after hearing that horror story of a life he had just described to her?

“I’ll go get Jax and a new pack of cigarettes. I want you to tell me about something good.”

He shakes his head, “Don’t you listen? I don’t-,”

“You do. You have a good story, I know you do. It hasn’t been all terror has it?”

“No,” he whispers, gazing at her in awe. “Some memories have been good.” Anything about Steve, about Brooklyn, about the Howlies were good memories. They might have been painful to remember but they were _good_.

She smiles.

 

~

 

His bed is a lot smaller than Ana’s king-sized one. One might think it uncomfortable until it gives you the chance at squishing closer to someone you really care about. They lie with their shoulders overlapping and Bucky talks. He speaks his memories to her in English without asking and Ana doesn’t complain.  

Every good thing he’s remembered since he came to Romania, he tells her. Story after story, memory after memory, he builds a world around her. His world, the world from before. It might be half-remembered and incomplete but it’s _his_ and she listens.

Brooklyn and the forties come alive for her. She can see Steve and their apartment and the grocer down the street. She can see the alleyways and dance halls and the Brooklyn Bridge. She can see his sisters and the docks and the bootleg alcohol. She can see the forests of France and Germany and the tanks that rolled through. She can see the gunfire and the bad guys.

Most of all she sees Bucky.

She watches his memory roll across his ceiling through the haze of cigarette smoke.

Bucky watches Ana watch, his right hand buried in Jax’s fur who purrs happily against his chest where the small cat rests, eyes squinted closed in pleasure. And then she says, “You remember more than you think. You’re still that person and you’re also not and that’s okay.”

He closes his eyes. “I don’t want to be him.”

“Then don’t be.”

Ana takes the cigarette from his other hand and stubs it out, along with her own. Then she turns on her side and presses her forehead against his arm. “Goodnight, _dorohyy_.”

“Goodnight Bucky.” The sound of his name floats around his head in a soft cloud, reminding him that he can be anyone, that the past only mattered so much, because the present and the lingering, unusual softness of her voice matters more.

He’s happy. And lucky. And he can’t fathom how.


	21. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3
> 
> [Follow me on Tumblr!](http://smokeandmirrorscloakanddagger.tumblr.com/)

There’s a smell of smoke in the apartment again. Bucky frowns and sets the bag of groceries on the counter.

The anxiety and tension and exhaustion is practically palpable. The smoke only highlights the feeling. Ana is up to about half a pack a day, sometimes more, as she smokes when she’s nervous or stressed. He’s tried talking to her about it but she just waves him off.

_Everyone does it._

_I’m anxious._

_You do it you little shit._

And Bucky had now explained to her that the smoke won’t affect him because of the serum and she had only rolled her eyes and said he had probably smoked in the army _before_ the serum. He hadn’t really been able to argue with that point as it was true. Before the army he hadn’t smoked much because of Steve’s shitty lungs. The asthma attack it had induced had been enough to put Bucky off of it forever. But once overseas he had picked it up both from the stress and because it was just what everyone did.

Since Katya has been pregnant however Ana hasn’t been smoking in her own apartment but rather his. He doesn’t really mind and she doesn’t do it often because she mainly goes outside in the street or onto the balcony to smoke but he’s still worried about her as he so often is.

He thinks he’s never met a more worrying person besides maybe Steve.

Ana is dead asleep on his mattress, curled into a tight anxious ball. So really he can’t help but sit next to her and brush some of her hair back from her forehead. She wakes slowly, relaxing gradually as she nuzzles into his hand until she’s fully awake. Wide light brown eyes seek his and observe him as she recoils from his hand. “Why are you doing that?” She pulls away from him altogether and sits up, scooting away and breaking his heart a bit.

Bucky has to remind himself that it isn’t because of him but because of who she is, because of what she’s been through. He should have known not to touch her when she slept. At least not when she went to sleep with no one there and wasn’t expecting anyone to be there when she woke. “Sorry,” he murmurs, because he knows better.

No reply. He glances over.

Ana is staring off into space, eyes lost and pained. Her spine is curved downwards, shoulders slumped. “Do you ever think about all the people you’ve lost?” Her hands are cracked, she’s been picking at her skin again, another sign of her uneasiness. The air is suddenly tense again and Bucky doesn’t know how to answer. Some days all he can think of are the faceless people he’s lost. Sometimes he can’t remember their names or what they looked like but he knows that they were there and important. That they meant something to him before they were stolen from him.  

He still can’t remember what his mother looked like. One of his sister’s names is in the wind. Once or twice he’s almost put google to use and found out but he wants to remember it on his own. Her face comes to him, small chubby cheeks, dark wild hair, bright blue eyes, bound to be a heartbreaker just like her big brother. But what was her _name_? He remembers Rebecca and Charlotte. Bucky also knows that his nameless sister must have been older when he last saw her than in the memory he has. In his memory she’s a small child, a toddler, and he knows when he left for Europe that she should have been about thirteen. He’s not entirely sure how he knows _that_ which only makes everything more confusing. _Remembering_ is confusing.

And then of course there are the Howlies, who he remembers but couldn’t tell you much about their personalities.

Every memory, all the people, are cracked and fragmented in some way. Shattered, like looking in a broken funhouse mirror. It hurts. Remembering hurts. Especially when people like Pierce or the first person to beat him or the men who raped him are so clear in his mind, their faces forever imprinted there.

“I think about them every day. All the time.” And he does. He thinks about them each every day when he wakes up. He recites the names he remembers and pictures the faces of those he doesn’t have names for. Some mornings he’ll do it while he and Ana smoke on the balcony together, cups of hot coffee sitting on the balustrade between them. He’ll include Ana and Fre and Katya in his list sometimes, on the days where his fear of forgetting again is strong. Bucky is afraid sometimes that he’ll wake up and the last year and a half will be gone. Smoke and coffee feel like home. But the smoke part might end up taking his home away from him and so he thinks maybe he’ll quit to get Ana to do so. Bucky does it mainly out of habit as its impossible for his body to be addicted to it.

Ana doesn’t say anything for a long time and Bucky starts to think that her dark mood may have passed when she says, “I’m tired of living with ghosts. I try so hard to stay in the present, to stay here with you and Katya and Fre and all the rest of the friends I’ve made. But _they_ come creeping back. The girls from the warehouse and my sister and my mother and father. They sneak up on me, they warn me not to forget.”

She turns to him and scrubs at her eyes with her fists before she meets his gaze. “How do you do it? How do you ignore them?”

“Most days,” he shrugs. “I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“The dead deserve to be remembered and I can’t even give them that. It’s important that I give them the attention that I’m capable of giving.”

With one trembling hand she reaches out to caress his cheek. She does so slowly, giving him the opportunity to move away but he leans into her touch and closes his eyes. Ana might still shy away from him at times but Bucky is nearly always hungering for soft touch. “But they remember _us_ and that’s the problem. The dead,” she says half-bitterly, “demand things and accuse things.”

He nods, because it’s true. “I don’t know what they want, even when I do remember.”

Bucky can feel Ana looking at him as her fingers stroke his cheek but he doesn’t open his eyes, won’t ruin the intimate, quiet moment.

“Bucky.”

He leans heavier into her hand as his heart cracks. Her voice is so soft. Ana is never like this with other people, only with him, or at least in private. “Yes?”

“Nothing.” Her thumb slides under one eye, tracing what he’s sure is a purple circle. “I just like to say it.”

“I like to hear it. I didn’t have a name for a very long time.” She wraps her arms around his neck then and pulls him down onto the mattress. Carefully he wraps his arm around her back and traces his flesh fingers up and down her spine as they both lie on their sides.

She hums and wiggles until her head is beneath his chin. “I’m doing nothing today. Would you like to join?”

He tightens his grip on her. “It’s already afternoon. And yes, I will.”

Silence settles between them. It’s warm and good and he starts to drift off to sleep with his nose buried in Ana’s hair when she speaks. “I love you.” Her voice is a soft murmur against his clavicle.

His eyes snap open. Does she mean it? Is she awake? His whole body goes stiff.

“I love you too.”

“Good.” He jolts. She wasn’t asleep. And now he’s only more confused because she doesn’t say anything more. But then he remembers Katya and Steve. He loves them too. Maybe Ana loves him the way Bucky loves them. Platonically. As friends.

Yet another crack chips in his heart.

It would have to be enough.

The warmth of her body seeps into his clothes, into his own body, into his soul. She’s already asleep as he kisses her hair, tightens his grip just a tiny bit more. “I love you, Ana.”

It is enough.

Ana, no matter what, will always be enough.

 

~

 

Bucky takes the cigarette from her hand before she can get it to her lips, before she can light it. “Hey!” He won’t let her kill herself, no matter how slowly.

“This is your fourth one toady.” He puts it between his own lips. “And I’m cutting you off.” She glares at him through the darkness of the street they’re walking along. “You aren’t fighting with me because you know I’m right.”

She growls. “Listen here Buck-o, I’ve been smoking since I was-,”

“Even better reason to quit.” He lights the cigarette, aware he’s only antagonizing her and wincing as he does so.

“I-,”

“How are you going to protect everyone if you’re dead?”

Her mouth makes a thin, white line. “It shouldn’t be my job to protect everyone. Or anyone at all for that matter.” Ana takes a knife from her belt and shushes him. “This is it, Barnes. When I’m finished with this I’m done. And we’ve _got_ him.” Her smiles turns a little sinister as the turn to creep down an alleyway.

Their feet are silent on the cobbled street as they approach the man. He’s standing at the back entrance of a bar and doesn’t see the knife before it’s pressed to the thin, delicate skin of his throat. Bucky warns the man to stay silent as Ana puts just enough pressure on the man’s neck to be uncomfortable, to draw just a thin line of blood. Ana takes the knife away and smiles. “Do you know who I am?” She steps around him to lay the full force of her eyes against him. Bucky secures the door to the bar, ensuring no one can come out for a smoke.

“No.” He spits, dropping his cigarette to the ground.

“You should. You used to make me scream your name.” She slinks closer to him and Bucky tenses. He hadn’t known. She hadn’t told him, warned him. His blood sings in his veins. The urge to grab the man and slam his head into the pavement is strong. “Remember? You used to kiss me with cold lips and fuck me until I bled. You said ‘say my name or it’ll be worse the next time’. It was always worse the next time no matter what I did. You loved to hear your own name, especially when someone is telling you to stop and you know you won’t.”

The man swallows thickly. He’s very pale. His lips bloodless. “Please, you have to understand. They were watching. I didn’t want to. They told me to be rough. They said it was so they knew I was loyal. They would have killed me. I had no choice-,”

“You had a choice.” Bucky growls. “And you should have chosen death.”

“You liked it,” she accuses, knowing it’s true. Ana grabs him by the front of his coat and slams him into the wall. “I can’t believe _you_ are the one trying to rat out that man. _You_ , you slimy, sick son of a bitch.”

“I’ll tell you. Please,” he flinches away from her. “Please, I’ll tell you everything.”

He tells them everything with a little encouragement.  

They go home.

 

~

 

Ana says goodnight and, that no, he can’t stay with her. His whole body aches as he listens to her from a floor below have a panic attack. And then another. And another still. She would start to calm down and then she would panic again.

He washes the man’s blood from his hands, slowly, watching the red disappear down the drain. He hadn’t killed him, only persuaded him when he wouldn’t tell Ana what she needed to know. Maybe he had gone a little heavy handed but really he couldn’t help himself, not when Ana’s abuser, tormenter was standing in front of him, not when any abuser was standing in front of him. He should have killed him but he’s also painfully aware that he sees a lot of things in black and white and that Ana has the ability to see the gray area and so he had listened to her instruction, trusting her moral code more than his need to destroy what had once torn apart something precious.

That night she and Fre leave the apartment together. Bucky should have known what they were doing, that they were going to end it all. Katya comes to his door and cries. She says that she hates that the two of them are a team like that. “They should have taken you,” she whimpers as they sit down on his bed. “But they always refused to take me because it’s Ana and Fre against the world. At least when it comes to the really important stuff. Where one goes the other is never far behind.”

She sniffles against his shirt. “He’s special you know.”

“What do you mean?” He holds her against his chest, rocks her slowly, tries to push down his anger and anxiety. He tries not to feel too jealous or betrayed but that’s the way it is. It feels like Ana still doesn’t trust him, not enough to take him with her on these missions at least.

“Fre. He’s special.” Katya rubs her face against his shirt. “Fre is one of those people you see on the news. An enhanced. Invisible, you know. He turns invisible.”

Bucky’s throat has closed, his heart stopped beating. It didn’t matter to Ana that he was a killer because she’s never been alone with him. Ana has had backup from day one. This, at least, is the conclusion his brain draws from this information. He hadn’t ever really believed after all that Ana had trusted him in the first place.

“Why do you look like that? Like you’ve seen a ghost.” She touches the side of his face gently. “She trusts you, James. Besides, she knows when Fre’s around and when he isn’t and if you know as much as you seem to then…well let’s say private moments between the two of you have always been just that.” She pauses, “That and the fact that Fre simply doesn’t have the time or patience to always be around her and you do.”

He stays quiet, doesn’t believe it. “She’s normal with you isn’t she?”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s…not as much. Tones it down, acts sane, gets kind of mopey?”

He swallows, “Yeah.”

“That’s evidence right there.” She pats his arm worriedly. “I shouldn’t have told you. Fre doesn’t use it anyways, only when they go to fight. He never uses it otherwise.”

He still feels distrusted and betrayed. He still feels stung.

Ana and Fre don’t come home for two weeks.


	22. Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading!! <33

There are people in Ana’s apartment. Men who carry boxes to and fro, out the door, down onto the street, into a van. Bucky stays put in his own apartment, knows her can’t be seen by that many people in an enclosed space. They’d ask who he is. He knows they would.

And so he stays put and stews in his anger as he listens to Fre direct people. Fre is hurt. Bucky can tell by his steps against his ceiling that he has broken ribs and a sprained ankle. Fre’s voice is wrecked. Something bad has happened. He knows it.

Ana isn’t there and Bucky’s frightened.

Why isn’t she home? Fre came home. Ana _always_ comes home, always. Anxiety and anger make a toxic combination in his stomach. His eyes clench shut.

He wants to smoke.

He won’t.

Ana could be-

His breath hitches. He can’t breathe. He can’t. If something has happened it will be all his fault. Bucky’s chest feels tight, his skin feels taut, his eyes burn, his mouth is a desert. If he opens his mouth sand and death will spill out.

Something inside his chest breaks. It’s not his heart because his heart is missing. His heart is with Ana who had taken it with her when she left. Bucky doesn’t want her to give it back but he does wish she would keep it safe.

 

~

 

It takes the men exactly an hour and twenty-two minutes to load up whatever it is they took from the apartment. Fre sighs heavily and goes to Katya’s room where she had been hiding for most of the time the people were in the apartment.

He sits down on the bed and hugs her close, whispering to calm down, that it wasn’t good for the baby. Bucky’s gut clenches as he listens to them.

“Her birthday is tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“She’ll want cigarettes and wine. She’ll want to go to The Tavern. I know she will. She’ll want James to come up.”

“I know, Katya, I know.” He says softly.  

Katya moves then, standing, as she begins to pace her room. “She’s okay?”

“I don’t know.” Katya starts to cry and Fre sighs. “Physically she’s a little worse than usual but mentally-,” He swallows harshly, “She saw a lot of bad things. A lot of things that were very similar to-,”

Katya lets out a terrified squeak. “And you lost her!?”

“She-,”

Bucky can’t listen anymore. He grabs his coat and gloves and a hat and leaves the apartment. Taking the stairs down two at a time he reaches the street in no time. He walks and walks and walks, aimlessly, all around the city, until he ends up back at the farm, by the fencepost where Ana had first admitted her real trust in him. The spot where she had decided to teach him her language.

He stands there for a long time, wondering why the people he loved seemed to be hell bent on killing themselves, on doing stupid things, on being selfless when all he needs them to be is there and present and alive. All he needs is for Ana to be by his side and safe but that, as he’s come to realize, is a lot to ask for. And he feels selfish for wanting them to be that way. They were bigger than themselves and he wishes they weren’t. He wants Ana to be his and safe.

“Bucky?”

Ice steals into his veins. Her voice is a small tremble on the wind, careful and afraid. He doesn’t want to turn and look at her, knows she’ll be bruised and broken in more ways than one.

“Bucky?” She asks again.

He turns. She’s hunched over, one arm wrapped around her middle. Her face is bruised and her lip swollen. He would bet her ribs are broken. Ana limps over to him and they face each other. “You left me again.”

She doesn’t apologize. “It’s what I do.”

“Don’t do that, Ana.”

It starts to snow and Bucky’s throat closes with the ominousness of the situation. Snow settles in her hair, on her shoulders. It sticks to the already frosted ground. Her skin is so pale and bloodless she looks like a corpse. It’s her eyes that scare him though, they’ve lost their sunshine color, their life. “Do what?” Her voice is low and defeated.

Bucky wants to rip his hair out, to scream. “There were people in the apartment.”

“I know.” She holds out her hand. “Would you take me home?”

He stares at her, at her trembling hand, at the blood that is stained on her fingertips. Ana won’t meet his eyes, her hand shakes worse, “ _Please_?”

Bucky can’t just leave her standing there, shivering and alone, so he takes her hand and folds his around hers. “I’ll take you home, _dorohyy_. I’m here. I’m here.” She lets go of his hand and wraps her arms around his middle. A sob breaks out of her chest, violent and raw.

He can only clench his jaw and hold onto her. Pushing his nose into her hair, he does his best to soothe her, to shush her. She only howls louder, winter wind whipping past their ears.

Then, she passes out.

 

~

 

When she opens her eyes, it’s with a groan. The room is empty, her body is sore, and her mouth is so parched it aches. But she smiles because it’s over. Her lips crack with dryness. It’s finally over. She's glad to be back in the apartment, back in her home.

Maybe now she can relax. That is until something else comes along, someone else. Her stomach swims with anxiety and the horror of the last few days catches up with her, what she saw, witnessed catches up with her. She had put a bullet in Vlad’s brain though, not trusting the courts not to fuck it up.

She immediately worries for Bucky however, knowing how worried he gets when she disappears. Then she remembers the farm and the snow and her tears and the blackness that had followed. She’s sitting up in bed suddenly, ready to go find Bucky, her legs over the side of the bed, when the door opens.

Katya stands in the doorway and bursts into loud tears. “Anie!” She rushes into the room and collapses onto the bed before wrapping herself around Ana to the best of her ability. Her mouth is next to Ana’s ear, whispering, “I’m sorry, so sorry. Ana, I’m sorry, Fre told me. He told me what you had to see again. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” But her voice cracks and she holds Katya rather tight, when it’s usually the other way around.

Fre and Bucky come in next both looking rather angry, before they both tell her what exactly is wrong with her. She’s got broken ribs and several deep gashes on her upper thighs and stomach. Her collarbone is broken. She has a mild concussion and had been knocked out cold at one point, according to Fre. And then there was the simple fact that she had wandered off, returned worse than before, and passed out.

Ana shrugs and hugs Katya tight, one hand on her bump, and says, “It was my emotions. They got the best of me. Besides,” she grits out, “if I want to go on a walk then I will.”

Bucky loses it a little bit then. “You can’t just wander off when you’re hurt! In the middle of nowhere no less.” All he can think about is Ana showing up by the farms injured and alone. "You should have been here!"

Her fingers are rubbing small, smooth circles into Katty’s belly. “I’ll do as I please. No one tells me what to do anymore.” After what she seen a few days ago she doesn’t care for his tone. She thinks he might be implying she owes him something, that he holds some control over her, that he can tell her what to do.

“There were people in the apartment.” He moves on, not heeding her dangerous tone.

“The agency comes and collects the files when a case is completed.”

“And who is the agency?”

“I don’t know.” Fre also shrugs.

“You could have died.”

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t let me help.”

She glares, “Because I saw what you did to-," The man in the alley.

“He _raped_ you, Ana.”

“I am very well aware of what he did to me.” Her voice is cold and hard, a warning lurking in her voice.

Bucky leans forward from his place by the wall. Katya squirms closer to Ana and glares at Bucky. “James.” She says hotly. “Ana is _hurt_.”

“She’s always hurt!” He shouts suddenly and both women flinch.

That’s when Fre steps forward, “Calm down. She has a concussion. She doesn’t need you to argue with her, James. She doesn’t know when to stop.”

He ignores Fre and stalks closer to the bed. “And you’re invisible,” Bucky grinds out without looking back at the other man. Katya squeaks and hides her face as Fre whips around to glare at her. “Tell me Ana did you ever really trust me? Or did you only feel safe enough because someone was nearby?”

Her eyes are wide, mouth hanging open. “Of course I-,” she swallows harshly. “You know I do.” Ana’s voice is soft and confused and betrayed.

“As long as Fre was around to watch.”

“No!” She tries to shake her head but winces instead.

Katya grips onto Ana in fear, watching her friend’s face drain of color. “James, stop!”

“I told you everything!” She screams suddenly. The room goes deadly still and Bucky’s breath catches in his throat. Angry tears roll down her cheeks. “I told you _everything_! I had to catch you out to get you to tell me _anything_. Fre does not spy on me. He has better shit to do. How dare you think I-,” she pauses and trembles and gets paler. “I reserve the right to do as I please without telling you. I didn’t want to involve you because it’s a _fucking_ mess. And if you think you deserve to know everything I do and cage me in like that then you are no better than _them_.”

He takes a step back as if she’d smacked him, opens his mouth to say something, anything. “Get out.” She interrupts.

“I-,”

“I said get out!” She’s screaming at the floor, won’t look at him now at all. “NOW!”

“Ana-,”

Her head whips up. “No. I am tired of being _this_. Of being _okay_. I had to see dead girls yesterday. I had to look at them and know I was too late and so sorry, no, I don’t have time for your anger or your-,” Ana’s shoulders slump, she cradles her head in her hands. “I just can’t be that person today.”

The room is still. No one moves. No one breathes.

Ana looks up at Bucky. Her eyes are so pale. “ _Dorohyy_ -,”

Rage splits her face, “Do not speak my language in front of me.” She’s looking at him with disgust and betrayal, something near revulsion. “Do _not_.”

“Ana,” he tries again. “Please, I just-,”

Her lips are a thin white line, Katya’s face is hidden in Ana’s neck. “Get out.” Her arm goes around Katya’s back, cradling her to her body as tears threaten to fall from her eyes. “Don’t make me say it again. If you don’t trust me then it’s better you aren’t here.”

Bucky opens his mouth but Fre’s hand lands on his shoulder and he allows himself to be led out of the room. “It’s better if you just go right now,” he says when they get to the front door. “You fucked up.”

“I know I-,”

“She doesn’t trust people.” Fre’s eyes are intense and so Bucky shuts his mouth and listens. “And the fact that she let you in at all is a miracle. When she does so she does fully and you broke that. Because she trusted you to trust _her_ and you didn’t. Furthermore I am not her keeper. You should know that she isn’t someone who can be _kept_ ever again.” There’s a quiet anger in his voice but he sighs too and says, “I hope you can work it out.”

He leaves him at the front door and Bucky finds himself suddenly firmly shut out of their lives. And he can honestly say he isn’t sure how it happened.


	23. Anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the chapter some of you have been waiting for. Thank you for reading. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think!

Bucky’s never seen snow so pretty as the one falling outside at the moment. It swirls and spins, churning gently through a dull gray sky. But it’s the silence that is killing him, nearly a full month of it. There’s been no sounds of Ana. He hears Fre and Katya but nothing from Ana but breathing. Its calm breathing, slow and even. She’s healing, finally _letting_ herself heal, and he’s not there to see it.

She’s never been stationary, not ever.

He likes to think that maybe her soul aches for his as much as his does for hers but he knows he’s being stupid and hopeful. Bucky knows she doesn’t want him, is disgusted by him, maybe hates him.

Part of him wants to be mad but instead he’s just horrifically miserable. It was one thing to sit in the apartment alone when he knew they weren’t there but to be alone when they were there and together, it hurt. It  _hurts_.

He’s heard Katya try to talk to Ana about him but she doesn’t reply. In fact she hasn’t said anything since he left that day.

He doesn’t eat much and only leaves the apartment to go on runs.

Time passes slowly.

He thinks about leaving Bucharest.

Everything hurts too much.

 

~

 

Christmas comes and goes.

New Year’s approaches. He hasn’t left. Fre talks to him sometimes. He’s aware he’s spiraling.

He doesn’t really care to stop.

Because really his whole world has collapsed.

There are no more daily trips around the city. No more walks to shady places. No more days of talking and listening to music and learning languages.

There is nothing and no one and it’s devastating. He doesn’t even have the cats to keep him company.

Fre and Katya come over often, they don’t want to isolate him, leave him alone just because he and Ana weren’t talking, but it isn’t the same. He wants to see Ana. He wants to talk to Ana, touch her. She’s the only person he wants to see. And so the days drag on and the dreams come back and the memories won’t stop.

They suggest going to see her, to try to apologize. They say she’s just as miserable. Bucky doesn’t much believe them.

Everything hurts.

He thinks about leaving Bucharest daily. He still doesn’t go.

 

~

 

And then.

A knock. Two knocks. Three.

Ana is standing at his door. She’s healed mostly. She looks good, better, healthy. She’s put on weight and would seem completely better if not for the twin purple circles under her eyes. “I thought I’d knock this time. I didn’t want you to have to air your dirty laundry again.”

He bites his already cracked lips. He knows they're red and bitten nearly raw. A shiver runs through his body and he has to stop himself from reaching out to touch her. “Ana-,”

“I didn't want you to spend New Year's alone. I don't want you to ever be alone but you hurt me.” She looks down, "And now I've hurt you. I didn't mean to. I was just so mad and-" Ana looks him over. “God, you look awful.” Her hand is extended to him, “Let me take care of you? I'll be your nurse for a while.”

He doesn't say anything, too afraid it's a dream, and he doesn’t take her a hand.

After a few seconds she lowers her hand and looks away from his eyes. All the fight goes out of her as she drops the theatrics. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry we haven’t seen each other. But,” her voice gets quieter. “But I…when you said you didn’t trust me-,”

Bucky reaches out and takes her hand, pulls her through the front door and closes it behind her. He releases her hand, turns away, and walks toward his small kitchen counter. “Tea?” He grabs a cup.

“Bucky?”

The mug is slammed down onto the counter with enough force that it cracks. “It’s cold, Ana. Do you want tea?”

“Yeah.”

It’s silent as they wait for the water to boil. Ana comes nearer to him but not so near he feels threatened. When the tea is finished he hands her the steaming mug. “Bucky.” She says again. Her voice is gentle and concerned. “Are you-,”

“No,” he says gruffly. “Sit down, Ana.” They sit at the table. She notices he’s trembling. The apartment is freezing. They’re in the thick of winter now and he doesn’t have the heat on.

“You’re cold,” she observes. She stands and grabs the chair by its back before moving around the table. Once settled next to him she takes each of his hands and wraps them around the hot ceramic. “Now, let’s talk.”

It occurs to him suddenly that Ana is still his sort of landlord. She could be here to tell him to get out. And as much as he’s thought about leaving Bucharest, he doesn’t want to. “About what?”

She leans into his shoulder slightly. “About you.”

“I never said I didn’t trust you.” Bucky’s voice is steady but emotionless. He leans into her touch slightly. “I never…I trust you. I thought, when Katya told me about Fre, I thought maybe you didn’t trust me, that you never had. I never said _I_ didn’t trust _you_.”

Ana frowns and moves away slightly. “It’s one and the same, James. Trust is supposed to be together and you said it wasn’t. Trust isn’t supposed to be one-sided.”

He silent for a long time and thinks about how long it took to gain Ana’s trust, how she had been so explicit in giving it to him. In fact, she had agreed to give him something precious and close to her heart. It had been full and bursting with vulnerability, her trust. She had agreed to give him her language. Almost without his consent his mouth starts moving. “It’s still easier for me to believe that you had been afraid all this time, having your back watched than to believe that you really trusted me. I’ve always trusted you Ana. Always. Before I really even had call to.”

“Why?” One hand reaches out to take his flesh hand from around the mug. Her hand is healed, but still pale and scarred. Carefully she laces their fingers together, holding his hand tightly within her own.

“I’m a monster and a monster doesn’t deserve much, especially not the trust of someone so-,” He stops, closes his eyes. Small circles are rubbed into the back of his hand.

Ana swallows thickly. “You aren’t,” she starts gruffly. “A monster that is. You’re the opposite. I promise.”

He laughs a little and opens his eyes to meet hers. They’ve regained their color, a bright golden hazel. “What’s the opposite of a monster?”

“I don’t know. But that’s what you are.”

“You didn’t come to see me. I thought…I thought about leaving.” Her breath catches in her throat when he says that and she swallows hard. “I thought you-I thought we had reached the end.”

She reaches out to trail the fingers of her unoccupied hand down his cheek. “The end of what?”

It hurts his heart to say friendship but he does, because that’s what it is and he’s okay with that. “Our friendship. You always come back. You always come to find me and this time you didn’t. You were so mad Ana, you told me not to call you-,”

Ana curls her fingers behind his ear, pushing his hair back. “ _Dorohyy_.”

“ _Dorohyy_.” He murmurs softly, his mouth caressing the word gently, reverently.

She sits back, taking her hand away from his face. “You didn’t see me either. I thought you would and we'd pretend it didn't happen and laugh about how mad I was. But then you didn’t and the days started to drag out. Katty and Fre told me you wanted to see me but that you-,” she stops. “Anyways I thought you hated me for being so cruel. And I am so sorry for that. I never meant to hurt you.” She coughs roughly and stands up, “Well anyways, uh, enough of that. You should go shower and I’m going to fix this dump up a little.” She moves to stand at the kitchen counter.

“ _Dorohyy_ -,”

“Go.” Her head is bowed as she braces her hands on the counter.

He does.

  
~

 

He showers and then they eat and then Ana tries to leave. It feels urgent, the way she tries to flee the apartment, and he thinks maybe earlier he had said too much. But, at the same time, there’s no going back. There’s something he’s got to say, even though he promised himself he never would.

So when she starts to stand he catches her hand and asks her to please, _please_ stay. He hates being alone. He hates being without her even more. She takes her hand out of his and takes slow deliberate steps away from him and toward the door.

 _That_ is when something changes between them. “You hate being without me?”

“You’re my whole world Ana. Don’t you know that? I’d do anything for you. I try to be better every day for you. My worst days are the ones when you aren’t here.”

She’s standing by the front door now, hand on the knob, chewing on her lip.

It’s quiet for a long time. It’s snowing outside and the apartment is still freezing cold. Ana doesn’t leave. She bites her lip harder and grips the doorknob with bloodless fingers and looks anywhere but at Bucky.

“You said you love me.” He breaks the silence, reminding her of the day they talked of ghosts of the pasts and napped together.

Her eyes are locked on the wooden floorboards. “I did,” Ana admits, her voice quiet and shaky.

His heart is beating so fast and hard his chest hurts. “Did you mean it?”

“Of course I did.”

That’s all she says. But he doesn’t know which way she means it. He doesn’t know _how_ to ask how she means it and Ana doesn’t know which way he’s asking and so they both stay quiet.

But they’re so close to admitting something and he can’t let that slip away. He won’t. Not after the last month and a half. Ana hasn’t fled the apartment and so he knows she needs to know too.

“Ana,” he says from his place on the bed. “I love you too.”

She frowns. “Me?”

“Who else?” He stands slowly. “Ana. _Dorohyy._ I _love_ you.”

Her fingers start to twist the door handle. “Okay.”

Bucky steps closer. “Ana-,”

She wants to run, he knows she does. But something keeps her rooted in place. Maybe she’s tired of running. Maybe she knows what he means. “I love you,” she says suddenly, looking absolutely terrified.

 _Now or never. Now or never._ He walks forward until they’re chest to chest. He puts his hand over hers and pulls it away from the door. “I love you.”

She’s breathing hard and shallow, he can feel her anxiety chasing its way up her throat from her belly. His other hand, gloved metal, goes to her face. “I just need you to know, that I love you. I’ll never push you. I don’t want anything from you that you aren’t willing to give. But I love you. So much, _dorohyy_. It’s you that’s kept me from leaving this past mouth and a half. So, so much. Okay? I love you.” His thumb slides delicately over her cheek. Her eyes are wide as she looks back into his.

“God, _why_?”

Bucky lets out an exasperated sigh as her other hand comes up to circle his wrist. “Because you’re _you_. You’re wild and loving and kind. You saved me. You care about me. You don’t care about who I used to be. I feel safe with you. I have for a long time.” For a time they just stare at each other and Bucky so wants to kiss her it hurts. Her lips are plump and soft looking if slightly bitten. But he doesn’t, he stays put.

Because he meant it. He won’t take anything from her. Not ever. He’s about to ask her if he might kiss her when she beats it to him.

“Well are you just going stand there looking at me or are you going to kiss me?” Ana’s voice shakes even as she tries halfheartedly to sass him.

He laughs a little. “Could I?”

She nods, her eyes fixated on his mouth. “Go easy. I’ve never-,”

Bucky had been leaning in when he stops. Never been kissed before, with her consent that it. She swallows hard. “I don’t count the times… _they_ kissed me.”

Releasing her wrist he moves his hand so he’s cradling her face between his palms. Ana cups her hand behind his, her other staying wrapped around his other wrist. “It’s been awhile for me. It’s been awhile since I’ve agreed to it either.”

Her eyes are large yellow moons, spreading him open, seeing his soul, his heart, his very being. “I want you to be my first kiss. I want you to kiss me.”

He nods and looks to her lips, brings his mouth slowly down onto hers. _Soft_ , echoes through his brain as he moves his mouth against hers. At first she doesn’t kiss him back, frozen, locked in place. But then Ana relaxes and carefully presses forward, lets her eyes slip shut.

Bucky feels safe and happy and peaceful and so he lets her lead. When she presses her tongue along his bottom lip he opens his mouth to her. She hesitates, dances her tongue quickly in and out before carefully suckling on his bottom lip.

He groans quietly into her mouth when she starts to pull back. “You taste good,” Ana comments as she rests her forehead against his. “Like lemon and ice.”

“I love you,” is all he manages to murmur back. And then, because he doesn’t know what the protocol for this is and his heart feels like it might burst, he says, “You’re so beautiful.”

Ana laughs and cautiously presses her mouth to his again. Through his metal hand he can feels the blood pooling in her cheeks, the temperature change. She’s blushing. He smiles suddenly and fully against her lips. He's made her blush and he's proud of that fact. Ana gasps and pulls back, and the moment shatters, his heart lurches painfully. “What? Ana?”

“You smiled.” There’s awe on her face. “I’ve been trying to get your dumbass to smile since I met you.” She shakes off his hand and brushes her fingers over his cheek and lips. Her fingers still over his mouth. “Will you smile again for me?”

Tentatively he smiles against her hand, half-embarrassed about it. She gives an echoing smile back. “Anything for you Ana.”

“Don’t say that or I might take you up on it.”

He takes her hand and lies it back against his cheek. “I trust you. I know you won’t ask for too much.” Bucky smiles again and Ana leans forward to kiss his cheek. “Stay with me?” He whispers, slipping his arms carefully around her waist.   

She nuzzles into his neck carefully. Her heart is pounding as she puts her arms around his waist but she knows he won’t hurt her. Fingers twitch against his spine, carefully begin smoothing circles there. “Come lie down, _dorohyy_.” Bucky kisses her temple and then her cheek and then her mouth. “I can’t believe this is happening.” He’s drunk on happiness.

Ana pulls away and tucks his hand into hers. “I want a quick smoke and then a drink. And then I want you to kiss me again.” He kisses her again right then anyways. “I love you.”

“Hm.” He brings her close again, smiling against her at the sound of her lips forming those words meant only for him. “Stay.”

“I’m here.”

He grips her tight, hasn’t felt so good, so loved, so wanted in years and years and years. She warm and pliant and trusting. She trusts him. She loves him.

Everything feels right, he smiles into her hair. “Could we get the cats?”

She starts laughing and calls him a little shit. Everything feels more than right. It feels like home.

Almost exactly a year from when she asked him the first time, two days away from New Year’s, Bucky’s found his way home again.

He kisses her again, just for good measure.


	24. New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :* let me know what you think!
> 
> Thanks for reading!

When Bucky wakes Ana is curled into his side. Her face is pushed into his ribs, one hand stuck underneath his shirt is resting on his stomach. The metal arm lies down her spine, fingers at her hip. The metal is warm from her body heat and his shoulder isn’t affected quite so badly by the cold.

It’s been a good couple of weeks, he decides. He’s been happy, he thinks, these last few weeks. Happy with Ana.

Ana has quickly become intensely affectionate since he kissed her that first day. And Bucky doesn’t mind at all. He doesn’t mind the fact that when they’re alone she always has at least one hand on him. He doesn’t mind that she sleeps wrapped around him, or on him. He doesn’t mind that she likes to keep her face pressed into his neck or that she hugs him every five minutes or that she sleeps with her cold hands under his shirt.

What he does mind is that she doesn’t ever touch him like that when someone else is around. Even Fre or Katya are enough to make her keep her distance and act as if nothing has happened between them.

But he knows that they know. Katya had squeezed his hand and poked a love bite on his neck before squealing and running off, more like waddling off, to tell Fre.

He wishes they could define what they are, and he wishes that Ana would at least hold his hand in front of others. But he also doesn’t want to push her or himself.

And so he wishes that they could stay in bed the rest of their lives if only so that Ana would keep touching him.

Bucky pushes some of her hair back from her face now and gently touches her cheek, smiling when she starts to stir. She stretches, fingernails digging into his skin momentarily, as her eyes open and she looks at him blearily. “You look awful in the morning.” Her voice is rough, cracking on nearly every word. “So fuzzy around the edges.” Ana blinks furiously, trying to bring him into focus. She touches his cheek, "Terrible." Her voice is reverent though, and awestruck. 

“Mmhm.” He strokes her hair, not taking his eyes off of her as he tries to ignore the way his heart stutters. “And you look beautiful.”

She mimes gagging and looks away. But her cheeks are red and he feels proud as she sits up. It’s silent and snow is falling outside their window again. The apartment is cold despite the heater but it doesn’t much matter when Ana is there with him. They acted as the other's own personal heat source. “I want to smoke.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I know.”

“Kiss me instead.”

She grins and looks away from the snow, where she has been watching it drift down lazily. “You turned into a cheeky little shit overnight do you know that?”

“Please?” His voice is a low whine.

Ana leans down until her lips are a millimeter from his, “Why should I?”

He grins, “Because you want to kiss me too and I’ll smile for you if you do.”

“You’re smiling right now,” she says brushing her lips against his as she speaks. Bucky opens his mouth to tell her to get on with it when she moves to kiss him. Their teeth clack together and she huffs out an annoyed breath. “I’ll just go smoke.”

Before she can move Bucky reaches up and cups his hand behind her neck to softly bring her down and press their lips together. She pulls back, “You have morning breath.” Ana is grinning devilishly.

He groans as she stands and darts away, quickly putting on coffee before grabbing her cigarettes from the table. “Don’t-,”

But she just sticks out her tongue and opens the balcony door.

Bucky stays in bed for a few seconds before he sighs heavily and gets up. But he’s still smiling because he knows Ana is _trying_ to cut back. She won’t admit to trying to stop but it’s a start, a move the right direction. He's still proud of her even if she does need one when she first wakes up.

He watches over the coffee while she’s out, trying to decide whether or not he should start breakfast. The machine beeps and the door opens.

She comes back inside, sighing in content, just as Bucky finishes pouring the coffee. “Better?”

“Yes. It’s hard. I’ve been smoking since forever.”

“How long?”

“Since I was a kid. My dad would let me take a puff or two from his.” She takes her coffee from him and drinks it black. Bucky has to add about three pounds of sugar to his. They stand together is the quiet morning light and drink coffee. Ana holds his hand over the counter and they watch the snow sift lazily down. This, Bucky thinks, is what normal is. Simple domesticity. The comforting presence of your person with you as you do something together most people take for granted.

Soon enough they’re both settled back in bed, after having brushed their teeth. Ana claims not to want breakfast and instead spends her time kissing him. It’s slow and lazy and good as she leans over him, her hair making a curtain around them. She keeps one palm pressed against his jaw, keeping him carefully in place. She tastes of tobacco and coffee and mint. It's good and he loves her so much it feels like his heart is cracking open. “Let’s stay here all day.” He says, brushing his swollen lips over hers, his eyes still closed.

“Mm.” Instead of saying anything she tries to kiss him again.

“Ana,” he takes her face between his palms and opens his eyes to search her hazel ones. “I want to spend the day with you. Do you have anywhere to go? Anything to do?” Some days he would think they had the day to themselves only for Ana to have somewhere else to be. She’s still dealing with Dalca and Erik and Christine. At least he thinks so, hopes there’s nothing _else_ going on.

When she doesn’t say anything he brushes her hair back and gathers it loosely into his fist so he can see her face. She doesn’t meet his eyes. “Why?” Her voice is small.

“What?”

“I’m still confused about this whole thing. Why are you here?”

He frowns as his pulse jumps, “I told you Ana…you know I lo-,”

“Not that,” she cuts him off quickly, her voice taking on an unexpected edge. “I mean…here. Romania. Why?”

He searches her eyes, trying to find out where her head is at but comes up empty. “I’m here because-,” he looks away. Why is he here? It’s safe and home and calm. It was the first place he felt he was far enough away from DC but familiar enough to him that he didn’t feel out of his element. He blended in well here and Ana had accepted him, dirty and confused, at her door. Now though… “I have you here. And Fre and Katya. I-,”

“Will you go home?”

“What?”

She sits up, looks terrified. “Will you go home? Will you go back to America? That’s your real home, that’s where your friend is. The one who can tell you about your memories.”

“No, I, no, not now-,”

“But maybe?”

“Ana-,”

She kisses him hard. “I have to go.”

“Ana.”

“What?” Her voice is sharp.

“Stop running away.” He takes her hand and sits up as well. “Please. _Please_. Just stay here with me. Please, _dorohyy_.” Bucky kisses her hand and whispers against her scarred skin. “Just stay with me for a minute. I know this is still new and we aren’t that good at it yet and we’re still trying to let ourselves be together this way but…I don’t want to be anywhere but here.”

He looks up and meets her eyes, “You won’t lose me. I know you’re afraid of losing everyone.” He keeps her hand against his mouth when he says, “You don’t have to be that person with me anymore. You don’t have to be so prickly.” He lets her hand fall away and cups his hand against her jaw instead. She leans against the cool metal.

Ana touches the inside of his wrist of his flesh hand resting against the sheets. “I don’t know how to stop being that person. This feels like the end of something. It feels like we’re reaching the end of _something_.” They lie back together again and her hands sneak back underneath his shirt, cool fingertips pressing against warm taut skin. “I don’t want to keep doing this. I don’t want to keep having to relive what those people did to me.” She presses her ear to his heart.

“I know.”

“I want you to stay here with us. You’ve become a part of our family.” Her voice goes strangely quiet. “I can’t lose another family.” She sniffles. “And I can’t help but feel like it’s about to be ripped apart again.”

“It won’t be.” Bucky pulls her up his body so he can press his forehead against hers. “You won’t. I won’t let that happen.”

She starts to pull back from him, sucking in a large breath, and he knows she’s about to start deflecting, make something look like nothing, turn it all into some sort of joke. “Stop it.” A long moment passes as he keeps his hand pressed against her back, keeping her in place before he realizes what he’s doing. He immediately takes his hand away from her back. “Ana-,”

“It’s okay,” she says as his heart thunders in his chest. “I know.”

He takes a deep breath. “You don’t have to do that with me okay? You don’t have to-,”

“I know.” Ana’s voice shakes a bit but still she presses her face back to his chest and doesn’t move.

He swallows thickly, tries to remember that it’s nothing against him. That he has it easier with Ana because he’s larger and stronger, that it didn’t feel the same to him. But to Ana, closing her eyes meant he felt like a lot of dead weight, like a large man capable of terrible things.

Only now he’s worried that she’s keeping in place because she’s afraid of him. He presses one hand down her spine. “I’m not going to leave you Ana but I also won’t hold you down.”

“I know.” She closes her eyes. "I just don't want to lose you or them. I don't want to lose the good people and things that have happened to me."

"You won't."

They both still worry.

 

  
~

 

A heartbeat. And then, “Would you like to know the gender?”

Katya grins and looks up at Bucky who is holding her hand. They’ve continued to pretend Bucky is her husband at the visits and Katya doesn’t seem to mind going so much as the woman in the lobby doesn’t bother her so much. Ana and Fre are standing behind the obstetrician staring at the screen, both having kept up a constant stream of nervous chatter since they’d entered the office. The doctor is holding a wand against Katya’s stomach.

Both seem more nervous about the eminent arrival of the baby then Katya does. But both have lost their families and they’re both terrified something is going to happen to this one. Ana's fingers continuously tap against her leg and he knows she wants a cigarette so bad.

Bucky hadn’t been to the last two appointments and so Katya had said no to knowing the gender so far. Now however she squeezes his hand and says, “Yes!”

The woman smiles and turns the screen so Katya can see it, points out various body parts and then says, “Congratulations, you’re having a girl.” She takes the wand away from her stomach and wipes the gel off before standing back.

Ana had moved to stand across the room from them but still manages to be the first person to hug Katya. “I love you, Katya. We’ll all take good care of her. She’ll be the most loved baby on the planet.”

“I already have a name picked out.”

“We’ll love to hear it when she gets here,” Fre steps up and hugs her too. They all look up at the same time and stare at Bucky. “Well get over here,” Fre sounds oddly choked up. He starts forward, carefully wrapping his arms around Ana and Katya’s shoulders.

“Thanks for taking me in,” he whispers to them as the doctor gets up and leaves the room.

Ana leans over and kisses him on the mouth very softly and chastely. He’s surprised but kisses her back because this is what he wants. For her to show her affection in front of others, though he’d never tell her that or try to make her. “I’m glad you let us take you in.” She says when she pulls back. Fre looks half disgusted, half happy.

And Katya is beaming, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I was right. I told you so,” she says to Ana who only rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically.

She lets go of the other two and wraps her arms around Bucky’s waist before she kisses him again. Gently he takes her face between his palms, “She was right and I’m glad.” He kisses her again as Katya giggles and Fre fakes retching.

“Let up! Get a room!”

“That’s my husband!”

“Seriously!”

“So sweet.”

Ana punches Fre and then releases Bucky to hug Katya again. “Family,” she whispers.

“Well Katya says as she stands up from the bench she had been lying on. “You did promise we’d find one. And you never break a promise.” Both girls cry and hug and Ana reaches out to take Bucky’s hand.

One tear slips down his face too.

Everything is going to be just fine.


	25. Knowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait!
> 
> Thank you for reading. I love you guys! Let me know what you think.

* * *

"Today is the day everything changes." Ana declares that night at dinner. 

Bucky frowns and continues to pat Katya's back, who is crying again. She's holding onto Puff who looks scandalized about being used as a live tissue. And Jax sits in Bucky's lap and looks smug about the situation. "The baby isn't due for another month, Ana," Katya reminds her. 

She huffs out a loud breath and sits back down in her seat. "You people are absolutely no fun at all." The table rattles ominously as she bumps it on her way back into her seat.

Ana, in her own typical fashion, had been standing on her chair. "Well what are you on about then?" Fre asks though a mouthful of his dinner.

"Nothing I guess."

It's been a few weeks since their discussion but Ana has not let up on the fact that she thinks something is going to change. Something is going to happen. Something is going to go wrong. It doesn't only give Bucky anxiety, but Katya too. As always Fre seems unconcerned and is planning a trip with Ana to South Africa. 

That is also a source of anxiety. 

Because she still has not mentioned taking him or Katya along. But Katya seems to know something he doesn't.

Frustration is starting to build in him against Ana, who is still keeping secrets.

And to make it even worse, today would be their three month anniversary if he knew if they were in a relationship or not.  

Which, of course, he doesn't. 

The whole thing is starting to become a little much. Because even though they sleep together, and kiss, and Ana is physically clingy when they're together, it still hasn't been explicitly said. Which, as much as he trusts his own mind, which is to say not at all, is sort of necessary. 

"Just spit it out," Fre says, jabbing at her with his fork. 

She shrugs, "Don't know. I just think something's going to change."

Katya frowns and squeezes Bucky's hand harder. Dread has settled in his stomach. But Ana and Fre, ever nonchalant and unconcerned, keep up a lively banter through the rest of dinner. And then there's clean up and getting Katya to eat her vitamins and feeding the cats and settling down for the night.

Which includes, but it not limited to: smoking, having a drink, hosting a Dalca negotiation which is really Ana stalling and waiting for Christine to die. It has to be done as Dalca kept showing up at the most inconvenient places around the city trying to fight her. At first she had given in but then she must've seen how worried Bucky got because she decided to do 'terrorist negotiations' instead. So the kitchen is occupied for two hours a night every day of the week as the two of them them shout at each other. 

It has been a long couple of months to say the least. The craziness, it seemed, never stopped. Even when they weren't off serving justice.

 

~

 

It's only when they're settled in bed, with Ana's face nestled against his neck and her hands inside his shirt resting against his ribs that he asks. 

"Ana, are we a couple?"

"What the hell else would we be?"

“I don’t know, Ana.” He rubs her back carefully. “Why are you so sure that something is going to happen?” Her palms flatten against his sides, fingertips digging into the muscle slightly.

A kiss is pressed to the stubble on his jaw before she shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.”

He winds his arms behind her back, “Nothing will happen to you.”

“I’m not worried about something happening to _me_.” Ana pulls away, taking her hands from his ribs, to sit up beside him in bed. “I’m worried something bad is going to happen to us.”

“Us as in-,”

Gently she threads her fingers through his long hair, tugging at the ends experimentally, scratching his scalp with tender fingertips. “Us as in me and you and Katya and Fre.”

He frowns, “Maybe it’s because of the baby? It’s new and means change.” Bucky thinks he should drop it. Because her fingers have moved to her thigh, jittering nervously against her pajama bottoms. Ana isn't telling him something.

She moves away from him and sits at the edge of the bed. Bucky moves with her, sitting up so he can curl his arms around her, kiss the back of her neck. For just a second she stiffens when his lips touch the column of her throat but then she relaxes and sinks back into him. Ana has gotten better about that lately, about allowing closeness. “I don’t think that’s it. I’m afraid that we’re all falling apart. I’m not ready for it to fall apart yet.” Ana takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, turns so her forehead is against temple.

“What about South Africa?”

“It’s-,”

“A plan that I’m not included in.” _Again_.

She presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. “You made me see the world in a different light, a better one. But we can’t pretend that this will last. You will eventually go back to your friend, to America. And I-,”  

“Wait.” Bucky shifts her so he can look into her eyes. “Pretend what will last?”

Ana shoots him a confused look and gestures between them as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You can’t really love me. You can’t really pretend that this is real. That we can-,”

A violent tremble runs up his spine. “Stop.” She quiets immediately, looks only half-ashamed of herself. “What are you plotting then?”

“Nothing.” Her fingers tap restlessly against her thigh. “It’s going to be a pretty summer in Romania.” He wraps his fingers around hers, keeps her pressed to his chest. “And I can’t help but think that we aren’t going to be here for it.”

“I’m here.”

“For now.”

It’s storming outside her bedroom window, rain unceasingly falling against the window pane. “What do you mean for now? What do you know?”

She shakes her head and turns to wrap her arms around his neck and push him backward on the bed. “I know that I always lose people.” Ana’s hand finds his jaw as he looks into her eyes, “And-and I…it’s…I’ve always had Fre and…Katya wants to go somewhere where she and the baby can be safe. We’re working on getting her a job and a safe place to stay in France, maybe Germany. We have contacts there. And if we…end up doing what we were doing before we all agreed that it’s best that the baby and Katya aren’t around.”

“So it feels like the end because it is?” He asks quietly, sorrow and hurt echoing in his voice.

“No. I’m staying right here and so is Fre. But mother and child need to be safe and we’ll visit often.” She pauses and looks away, her hands on his chest. “Katya…wants to, uh, become legitimate. No more abandoned apartment buildings and sketchy people and even sketchier jobs.” She leans down and presses a careful kiss to his mouth. “So, why would _you_ want to stay here? You’re trying to live the quiet life.”

He wraps one arm behind her back and flips them before he captures her mouth in searing kiss. “But it has been quiet. At least quiet in the way I need it to be. Okay? And you’re here.” He kisses her mouth and then her forehead and cheeks and chin. “And I won’t be going anywhere if you aren't.”

“Bucky.”

“Ana.”

“I love you.”

“I-,”

She cuts him off with a kiss, putting one hand behind his neck to pull him closer. His knee goes between her thighs as Bucky carefully holds himself away from her. Ana’s fingers trace under his shirt, her hands carefully fliting over thick muscle. Her other hand moves from his neck to rest on his bionic arm through his shirt. A chill runs up Bucky’s spine and he pulls away. “What?”

“Nothing. I, uh, you don’t have to touch it-,”

Bringing him in for another kiss she whispers, “I want to. If you’re okay with it that is.”

“I love you.” Ana doesn’t respond. But when he tries to pull away, because he knows she’s still having trouble believing him, she only kisses him harder, her tongue slipping into his mouth.

Something changes between them then and it becomes frantic. They press closer and closer, lost to the warm feeling swelling inside both of them. Ana pulls away with a gasp and she wants to feel guilty and bad, like she always has before, but she doesn’t. She feels good. What they’re doing feels good.

Bucky moves to kiss her neck, nuzzling against her as she rakes her fingers down his chest. He lets out a low growl and sucks a harsh kiss to her pulse point. “Buck-,”

A moan leaves her when his lips brush over a sensitive spot near her jaw. “What is it, _dorohyy_?”

She wraps her arms around his neck and gazes at his swollen, red lips with want. “I want you to know I feel safe with you. I have for such a long time.” He nods and tries to kiss her again but she pulls back. “And you let me touch you. And you can…you can touch me. If you want. I’ll tell you if it’s not okay.”

He presses his forehead to hers. “Okay. Okay.” Then, because it matters, because it’s important he whispers, “I feel safe with you too.”

Carefully she plays with the hem of his shirt and then tugs on it. “Only if it’s okay with you,” she says to him as she passes her mouth over his jaw.

Bucky really wants her skin against his, craves her touch, and so he sits back on his knees and takes off his shirt. It’s the first time she’s seeing everything. The scars and the arm and everything he’s self-conscious about. She sits up and wraps her arms around him, soft kisses peppered along a scar on his pec. Then she pulls him back down and kisses along his neck.

They kiss until they’re breathless before Bucky pushes his fingertips beneath her shirt. “Okay?”

“Mm.” She grips his biceps and twists her head to kiss the metal of his left arm. “Okay.”

He slides his hands over the soft skin of her stomach. Taut muscle tightens beneath his fingers and he can’t help but push her shirt up further to lean down and kiss her belly softly. “You are so soft.” He kisses along her ribs before moving to capture he mouth again. “You are so-,”

“You’re a little shit.” She playing with the ends of his hair, tugging just right that it makes him want her more.

“Beautiful, _dorohyy_. I was going to say beautiful," he says, exasperated.

She brushes one hand over his chest. “You too.” Her voice cracks. “Promise me you’ll never leave.”

“I promise I will never leave.” He tugs on her shirt, “Can I-,”

For a moment she doesn’t respond, looks at him with wide eyes. Ana swallows thickly and chews her lip before she nods. “Okay.”

He pulls away from her, drags the material away from her body and pauses, looks down at her and smooths small circles into her hips. “This is okay?”

She nods and brushes her fingers back up his arm, tracing his warm skin.

So he gets to know her body presses kisses to her stomach and hip bones, her breasts and shoulders, all the while Ana is trying to stifle small groans that try to escape her. She bites her lips so hard she draws blood and when Bucky tastes it he has to remind her that it’s okay to make noise, that she’s okay.

But he so wants to take her bra off. To suck one pink nipple into his mouth and ravish her. And Ana is responding well. He thinks it should be okay. Her mouth doesn’t leave his, her hands are inside the back of his jeans, resting on the material of his boxers. When he does something she likes her fingers will dig into the flesh of his ass and he has to stop himself from rutting against her.

He wants a lot of things in that moment and he forgets that they’re treading sensitive territory. He forgets what she’s been through and he forgets that she panics easily. Bucky pushes his hand up her back, presses his fingers over the clasp of her bra at the same time that he sucks another bruise right over her sensitive pulse point. She gasps and gives a roll of her hips onto his thigh that’s still between her legs.

It gives him the courage to unclasp her bra. She goes deathly still and moves at lightning speed to push him away. “No.” And then she starts to panic. “No, no, no, no. Please stop. Please, I can’t, I-,”

Bucky pulls back immediately, panic bubbling in his stomach. “Okay. Okay.” He grabs her shirt and hands it to her. Ana sits up and reaches behind her to hook her bra before quickly putting on her shirt. Then she looks at him and her eyes start to water.

“Fuck. I am not a crier. I’m not. I-,”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. _Dorohyy_ , I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He fears he’s just ruined everything. He shouldn't have done something without asking. What if she asks him to leave? His heart chips and cracks.

And then a tear drips down her face and she grabs him back, pulls him in for another kiss. She breaks it eventually and they lie back together, Bucky’s head resting over her heart as her fingers thread through his hair. The panic starts to disperse and he closes his eyes. It’s a process after all. There were bound to be bumps considering their combined history.

“I’m sorry I upset you.”

“I’m sorry I gave you a hard-on.”

He chuckles and nuzzles against her neck. “I should have asked.”

“It was just too much-,”

“You don’t have to explain. I love you. And I know.” She doesn’t respond but he feels her fingers tighten on his hair and her nose pressing there, inhaling slowly. He smiles, “And I really love your boobs.”

She laughs loud and full. “Ha!” Her voice is sarcastic in a teasing sort of way. “Yeah?” Ana asks, her other hand going to stroke the scruff on his cheeks. “Maybe one day I’ll let you see them.”

“I think I might want to do more than look.”

“We’ll see.” Ana kisses his cheek and he can feel her smile. “Thank you. For stopping.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t thank me for-,”

“ _Thank you._ ” And because he knows she won’t let up and that it’s important to her he lets it be. It was, after all, the first time she had said stop and someone had listened. His stomach tightens in disgust and rage.  

Bucky sighs. “I love you.” Because she needs to know that, always.

She nods.

It’s quiet for a while, only the din of the rain in the dark room sounding, before Ana starts to giggle. Louder and louder and louder.

Bucky pulls away from her neck to look at her, a small smile on his face. Before he can ask she says, “For the record I really love your ass.”

He kisses her.


	26. Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> Let me know what you think!

“Hey boss.”

Ana turns from where she had been leaning over the back of the couch with her arms around Bucky’s shoulders. He’s wearing a new sweatshirt she had given him and she claimed to be “testing the softness” as she rubbed her face against the material, occasionally kissing his neck and shoulders. Ana shows him more tenderness all the time and really he couldn’t be more thrilled about it.  

Standing in the doorway are the eerie twins that he hadn’t seen since the day they had been moving boxes for Ana. The day she had come back after being gone for weeks and weeks. “Boys.”

“It’s happened, boss.” They say in unison. “She’s dead.”

Her spine straightens and she looks over at Bucky, one of her hands still resting against his neck possessively. A smile works onto his face, because he’s thrilled about that too. “Okay. Tell everyone.”

“We’re supposed to be fetching you.”

“Why?”

They shrug. “People need a leader. Or something similar.” They tilt their heads to the side. “Is it true you’re leaving us all as soon as this mess is concluded?”

For a long moment it’s quiet before she clears her throat and says, “Not sure.”

“Where will you go?” Twin one.

“China?” Twin Two.

“Russia?” One.

“America?” Two.

“Peru?” One.

“Wakanda?” Two.

“Shut up.” She grabs a jacket. “C’mon James.”

 _James_? He rises and grabs his boots to pull on quickly before following the twins and Ana out the door. “Who’ll take care of things when you’re gone?” Ana has a twin on either side of her as they descend the steps, Bucky falling in behind them.

“I don’t know.”

“So you _are_ leaving?”

“I’m here right now aren’t I? And I won’t be going soon.”

The twins glance at each other behind her back, raising their eyebrows disbelievingly. “So like a five year plan-,”

“Quiet.”

They stay quiet and Bucky questions his place in her life for the thousandth time in four months. His chest aches, he couldn’t stand it if they were separated, especially if it was willingly on her part.

People are gathered at Erik’s house, which is much different that the butchery he had once visited, including Dalca who places himself by Ana’s side, elbowing Bucky out of the way and refusing to move. “My sword?”

“A woman has died. Could you wait five minutes at least?”

Dalca starts to reach for her wrist, anger written on his face when Bucky grabs his arm. “If you touch her, I’ll kill you.”

He glances Bucky over with disgust, ripping his arm away from his grasp, and asks Ana, “He’s still _here_? I though he was hired muscle.”

“Yes.” Is her only reply.

She storms off, approaching Erik and his daughter. Her head is bowed in sympathy but it doesn’t last for long before the two of them are hugging her, very tightly it seems. He can hear lowly muttered thanks and apologies. Her back is straight, she stands tall, the very picture of strength. Bucky wonders how much of it is real, and whether or not he should go over to her and make his support known. He starts forward when someone speaks to him.

“You won’t last you know.”

Bucky looks around at Dalca who is adjusting his belt, and a holster strapped to his hip. “What?”

“She’s a _runner_. She’s planning it right now, right under your pretty little nose. Been here for years and then there’s _you_ and suddenly she has to go? I don’t think that’s a coincidence.” He pauses and rolls his eyes, “Bound to run from you anyways.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes are fixed on Ana’s back, before they flick over to the far wall where a sword hangs. “It means that you aren’t a permanent fixture. And neither is this community.” He turns to meet Bucky’s eyes, “Because you aren’t perfect. And perfect is what she needs. I see right past you boy, don’t think I don’t. You’re blackened on the inside, charred. How is someone like _that_ , supposed to love a pretty thing like her? Oh don’t look at me like that.” Bucky’s face had contorted into an angry scowl.

Dalca leans closer, “She is pretty isn’t she? I bet you’ve thought of a million different filthy things you’d like to do to her. Whether she wanted you to or not.” Bucky barely contains himself from lunging forward. But he doesn’t because a woman has died and he won’t ever let Ana out of his sight. “Ah, self-control. Yours is taught. Some people are born with it. I think yours might have been _beaten_ into you.”

He moves a bit closer. “Just think about it, hm? Your hand around her throat, that pretty ass high in the air, the way her voice will catch when she begs you to stop but you can’t and won’t-,”

With a growl he moves in front of Dalca, reaches forward and takes the man’s wrist in his bionic hand. He squeezes tight until panic comes onto the man’s face. But it scares Bucky because he thinks that Dalca might be faking it and it that’s true- “You’ll not go near her. You’ll not speak about her that way. And if you do you’ll have me to see.” He squeezes until something cracks, but it seems not to even phase Dalca, the pain seemingly has no effect on him.

He gives him a sinister smile and then walks away whistling, looking for all the world like he’s just won the prize of his life. Bucky can’t help but feel he’s just revealed his hand.

 

~

 

They stay at Erik’s for a few hours. Ana gives a long but very sympathetic and emotional speech. She talks to and comforts the room full of people while Bucky makes himself scarce in the corner of the room, watching her every move.

And there are a lot of people and they all seem to know her, rely on her to know what to do, for comfort. Eventually she makes her way back over to him, looking emotionally drained. “I think I’m done here. Would you want to go out to get something to eat?”

“I think I’ll go home.”

“Sure,” she says, glancing around as she reaches for his arm. “That’s fine.”

He pushes her hand away from his. “I mean just me. You have people to tend to here.”

Her face goes hard, “You’re my people.”

And that’s how easily he caves, forgets the uncertainty and fear settled in his stomach by what Dalca had said to him. Besides he shouldn’t leave her alone, even if Dalca and the sword have suddenly disappeared. “I know,” he puts his arm around her neck. “Let’s go home.”

“The funeral is in two days.” She nods and presses her lips into a thin line. “I’ve been to too many.” People try to stop them on their way out of Erik’s place, the twins leering creepily from one corner.

Bucky pulls her closer and kisses the top of her head. “Where do you want to eat, _dorohyy_?”

“I want kebab.” Her voice cracks.

“Okay.” He kisses her temple twice. “Okay.”

 

~

 

Two hours later they’re roaming around the city. Bucky has his arm around Ana’s waist as she can no longer comfortably stand on her own. She’s consumed far too much alcohol for Bucky’s liking, more than she had ever had in his presence before. And he’s worried.  

Much more worried than he should be, terrible thoughts running through his head. Should he have tried to stop her earlier? Would doing so have made him seem patronizing and condescending? Ana doesn’t like to feel trapped. She doesn’t like being told what to do. But now she’s crying and stumbling and he’s thinking he really shouldn’t have let her drink her feelings. Not when Dalca probably knows who he is. Not when he should have been gone yesterday.

But Bucky knows he isn’t going anywhere and no matter what the old man says he knows Ana isn’t leaving him behind either.

“ _Bucky_ …” her voice is a low wail. He stops and scoops her up, and then continues walking. She presses her face to his shoulder. “Christine was my friend. S-she was so kind to me when I first arrived in Romania. She taught me Romanian.” Her breaths are hitching horribly.

“I know, _dorohyy_. I know it’s hard. I’m sorry.”

She keeps crying, a sorrowful sound filled with grief. “Everyone expects me to lead. When did I become the leader of-of a community? I don’t know when it happened. When did my network become my community?”

Bucky is about to respond but she just keeps crying. “I’m sorry I’m so messed up.”

“Ana…I’m messed up too. More so than you are, trust me. And we’re getting better. I’m sorry about your friend and I’m sorry I never got to know her.”

“I want another drink.”

He sits down on a bench near the entrance to a park. “No you don’t.” Maybe if he keeps silent his fears will go away but really he knows that they’ll eat him up faster. “Ana-,”

“I wanted to have sex with you, you know.”

Bucky’s whole body stills. “Ana, I-,”

“And I messed it up again. Even though I know it’s you. Even though I love you more than I thought I was capable of loving a person this way. I dreamed about it but I’m still scared and I know you want to-,”

“I-,”

“We’ve gotten pretty far. The more we try the more I can-,”

“Ana!”

She flinches but Bucky only takes her face in his hands. “Hey. I will wait forever. I don’t need it.”

“But I want it.” Ana covers his hand with hers. “Ever since we you first kissed me.”

He blinks, “Really?”

“But I’m afraid that you won’t…won’t listen to me.” She leans her forehead against his, Bucky’s hands still against her face.

He brings his mouth to hers, nipping softly at her bottom lip. “Would it help if you were in control?”

Ana pulls away to press her mouth to his neck, murmur against his skin. “You would do that for me?”

“Yeah,” he laughs against her hair and moves his hands to wrap his arms around her back. “If we set ground rules and you listened to me if I said to stop.” She nods furiously against his neck. “I know it's different for you. I know it must feel horribly similar." She sniffles again him before he adds, "And maybe we should wait until you’re sober.”

She groans. “I have more confidence drunk.”

“No.” He’s nonnegotiable about this. 

“Okay. Okay.”

“And then I have something important to tell you. Ask you. About Dalca. About our future.”

Her head is lolling against his shoulder. “Okay. Will you take me home now? I want to sleep. My friend died today.”

And really there’s no other answer than yes.


	27. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiiiiiiiiii
> 
> Sorry it's been a while for this story but I'm super excited for this chapter. It took me an unnecessarily long time to get it right. Also! We're almost at the end of this one! There're probably going to be four or five more chapters. Which I have outlined. 
> 
> Anyways, as always, thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I hope you like it, and let me know what you think!

Ana couldn’t say how she ended up here, standing in front of a glass box with a pregnant woman pressed to her back. Guns on all sides as memories of a war long passed flashed before her eyes. Her sister's lifeless body; long, deft fingers pale and spindly against dark, burnt earth. She remembers the stench of death and sour, unwashed bodies around her as she screamed and screamed for her sister to just open her eyes and look at her. Despite the chaos around Ana, her sister looked peaceful in death, serene. The men had dragged her away, laughing, and her eyes had never left her sister.

She didn’t look at her parents that night and for that she’ll never forgive herself.

But this, being surrounded by men and women alike, that she didn’t know, defending people she couldn’t hope to protect, is all too familiar.

“Hey!” Someone is shouting at her and she can feel Fre move in front of her, invisible to the rest of the room. “Who are you? How the hell did you get in here?”

“What are you doing?” James is hissing at her.

Katya hisses right back, “Shut up and let her work!”

“They’re going to-,”

“Shut up!” Ana suddenly shouts. The room falls silent. The dirt and mud and terror of the night her life changed forever fades away and is replaced by clean lines and people in suits. Still terrifying but for different reasons. She grabs her bluster and shrugs it on like a coat, shoving down the terrified little girl who still looked for her sister in everyone she met. Ana lifts her chin and says, “You are aiming at a  _pregnant_ woman! Have you no shame?”

The agents look at each other, seem confused.

She narrows her eyes when they refocus and take back their determination.

“Tell us why you’re here. What do you want?” It’s Captain America. Ana’s eyes light on his. She blinks slowly, looks at the rest of the people gathered there.

“Ana!” Bucky shouts, frustration coating his tone. He’s been whispering her name under his breath for the last few minutes. “Look at me.”

No one moves. “I want to tell the truth.”

“Okay,” says Captain America, who is seemingly on her side for unknown reasons. “Tell the truth about what?”

“He didn’t do anything. He’s been with me the whole time.”

Someone laughs. “I thought the groupies didn’t start coming around ‘til after they’re in prison.” Someone else laughs and Ana tries not to feel infinitely stupid.

But Steve Rogers is nodding at her. “Okay.”

“I have proof.”

“Okay.”

“And I would like those guns to stop being aimed at me and my friends.” Katya squirms and then seemingly without cause, one after the other, the agents’ weapons are flung away from their hands. Fre rushes back to Ana's side, brushing his fingers over her arm.

Someone else steps up, angered by the giggle that had escaped Katya when the guns were knocked away. “And we’re just going to believe you and your friends?”

“No. You’re going to believe the amount of people it would take to fill a good woman’s funeral service.”

 

~

 

Ana thinks about Bucky all the time. She hates that she’s always thinking about him, she knows it means love. She’s admitted that it means love.

But love is also the one thing that had crushed her spirit the most. It hadn’t been the rape and the violence and the physical and emotional torture. It had been the death of her sister, her mother, her father. The loss of all familial ties. The loss of home and friends. Certainly the other things had been horrific, but for Ana nothing mattered more than those close to her.

And she had lost them all.

So, here she sits on a hill above the city with a wicked hangover the day after one of her friends has died. She doesn’t want to run away. She doesn’t want to lose anyone else.

In fact, she wants to go home. Back to her home where her mother cooks and her father plays the piano and her sister is good at everything and Ana is good at nothing and they all still love her anyways.

She wants to go home. She wants to take her people home.

If she had never left home she would have never had to discover how good she is at some things. Like spying and making networks that accidently turn into communities and finding people that are just like her, have been hurt like her. She knows she would have never bothered with another language besides Ukrainian. She had been shit at English in school anyways. And now she knows more languages than she thought possible to learn and remember.

Someone is coming up the hill behind her. “Ana?”

“Hey, _Syniy_.”

“Blue? Why am I blue?” He sounds confused, sitting next to her on the grass.

She leans into Bucky’s arm as soon as he’s seated next to her. “Because of your eyes.”

“Oh.”

“It’s like looking into the soul of the moon and the sun.”

He takes her hand in his, “That doesn’t make any sense, _dorohyy_.” Bucky kisses her knuckles. “But I like it anyways.”

Ana slouches down until her head is in his lap. “Will you come to the funeral?”

“If you want me there, I’ll be there.”

“I want you there,” she murmurs into Bucky’s stomach as his hands brush through her hair. She lets herself relax, lets that feeling of home wash over her, and closes her eyes. He’s good and warm. Something cool brushes over her face and she leans into it. “You aren’t wearing gloves today.” The hand starts to draw away from her face, startled and self-conscious. “What?” Ana asks, opening her eyes and taking his hand back into hers.

The wind whistles around them, high on the hill. “Nothing.” He pauses for a moment and feels what it is Ana had been mumbling about for weeks. It feels like the end of something. “I just hate it and it surprises me that you don’t.”

A drop of rain hits his face as the wind blows harder. “Let’s go home, _kokhana_.”

 

~

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Everything is your call, _dorohyy_.”

She doesn’t move, stays quiet and still by her bedroom door, wearing only a t-shirt and panties. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, which is covered by a sheet, surrounded lit candles in the dark space. Ana had immediately ruled out the bedroom and so now, here they are. If it weren’t for the super soldier serum coursing through his veins she would probably only be a dim outline in the doorway. She could have asked him to allow himself to be restrained, in fact he had offered, but she had declined. He knows it's her way of trying to show trust.

When they had come home she had pushed him against the door and kissed him, harder and harder, until finally he had broken away from her and asked her what she wanted. And she had said _him._ Something like pride and confidence had rushed through him.

Slowly she walks over to stand between his knees. “Are _you_ sure?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll tell me to stop?”

“I promise.”

Ana takes a breath and moves onto his lap, straddling his thighs. She cradles his head between her hands before tilting it back and bringing her mouth to his. It’s careful and slow, testing, almost as if they were kissing for the first time again. He lets her lead. He trusts her.

She doesn’t rush it and even though it’s killing him a little Bucky doesn’t push her. It even takes a few long minutes for her tongue to slip into his mouth. But when she does she isn’t careful. She kisses him hard and grabs his hair, tugs until a traitorous moan echoes in his throat. With a wet smack of their lips she pulls away from him. “ _Krasyvyy._ ” She whispers against his jaw, pressing her lips lovingly anywhere she can reach. “Tilt your head back?” Uncertainty slips into her voice.

Bucky does as asked, as she curls some hair behind his ear. “What’s that mean, _dorohyy_?”

“Means beautiful.” Ana murmurs before she presses her lips to his neck as Bucky cautiously puts his hands on her waist. She doesn’t stop him when her shirt rides up and his fingers skim the exposed skin.

When she pulls back her lips are swollen, the area around them red, from the roughness of the light stubble on his neck. “Buck,” she whispers. “Bucky. James.”

“What is it?” He asks, rubbing his hands up and down her back. Ana reaches back and takes his hands, clutches his hard between her own. “You okay?”

She nods. “I-,” She stops, meets his eyes, before crashing her lips against his own. “I love you. And I think-,” she puts her hands against his chest. “I think I want us to be together.”

“We are.”

“I know.” But her voice cracks. “I know. I know.” He does too. He knows, has that strange feeling in his gut too. And he thinks for a moment that maybe they shouldn’t do this desperately. But most of his life he’s done things desperately and now is no time to stop.

Bucky slips his hand down to her thigh, rubs circles against her bare skin. “Stop thinking for a minute. Just let go. I’m here. It’s me and if something happens you can trust me to stop.”

Ana tugs on his shirt collar, “I want to see you again, _krasyvyy._ ”

Complying with her request is easy, he feels safe with her, almost dopey with love and quiet contentment. So, he shucks away his shirt and leans back into the couch cushions. Her fingers dance over his skin, over the scars, and down his arms, metal and flesh. The touch is so light it almost feels like nothing, and, at the same time, makes him feel overly sensitive and half exposed. It isn’t a bad feeling, in fact it feels pretty fucking _good_ , but it does make him whine and shift, his hips rolling upwards.

She freezes, and then very slowly and experimentally rolls her hips into his. “Do you like when I touch you softly?” Her fingertips trail over his bare chest. “I like to touch you.” Up, up, up. They tangle in his hair, and Ana pulls his head back carefully, looking him in the eyes as she grinds onto him. “You really are going to let me be in control?”

There are tears glistening in her eyes. “Yes. I told you I would, Ana.” She kisses him again and presses closer.

“Touch me.”

Her hand is still tangled tightly in his hair, a grip that’s carefully keeping him from moving too much. “Are you-,” Ana nods, and then tugs on his hair, silently urging him forward. He moves his hands upwards, underneath the shirt, up against her ribs, until his thumbs press against the bottom swell of her breasts.

Ana shivers and ducks her head to kiss his throat sloppily, more focused on what his hands are doing than what her mouth is. His hands rakeup and down her sides a few times before he presses them back up and over her breasts. A gasp falls from her lips against his neck.

Half expecting to be pushed away he stills, but she only leans into his hands and brings her mouth to his. “It’s okay,” she says against his mouth. He brushes his thumbs against her nipples. They harden beneath his touch as she gasps again.

Ana tries not to let guilt flood her as she grinds into him. It isn’t supposed to feel good. Wasn’t she supposed to hate it? But Bucky stays mostly still and lets her kiss him however she wants. His hands feel good against her breasts as he squeezes them gently. “Sure?”

“Mm,” she murmurs. She puts her hands over his, the material of her shirt separating their hands. Her hips keep moving as he brings one hand down from her chest to the waist band of her underwear. His thumb flicks over her nipple again at the same time his fingers dip under her panties. “Wait, wait, wait,” she whispers, pulling back from him.

“What? You okay?” Bucky pulls his hands away.

Ana takes a few deep breaths and then takes the hem of her shirt in her hands, lifting it above her head. For a moment she doesn’t say anything as she tosses the shirt away and refuses to meet his eyes. It’s the first time in years she’s been bare in front of anyone, and the first time ever she’s naked in front of someone with her consent.

Breathing becomes a little difficult when he doesn’t say anything. But then his hands go back to her ribs, smoothing soft circles against her skin. “Hey,” she meets his eyes. “You’re beautiful, Ana.”

“Thanks,” she says, voice shaking. “I do my best but I have to admit something right now.”

“What is it?”

Wide eyes dart away from him. “I’m afraid. I’m afraid. It always hurt so badly. And-,” she grinds down onto him again, making it very hard for him to keep still. “-not to be frank but I think you might be big.”

Panic starts to overwhelm her, when Bucky takes her face between his hands. “We can stop if you want.” She shakes her head and grips onto his arm tightly. “Then we’ll go slow, and easy. I can make it easier on you. It helps if you come before.”

Ana looks away, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “I-I-I-,”

“Let me help you, _dorohyy._ I’m here. Let me-,”

She interrupts him, “Okay.”

He looks up in surprise but nods, gripping her thighs tightly before standing and turning to deposit her on the couch. Fear rolls off of her in waves until he sinks to his knees in front of her. Bucky hooks his fingers in her panties and meets her eyes, silently asking for permission. She nods, and he draws them slowly down her legs.

For a second he just looks at her, until her fingers go to his hair again, pulling tenderly at the dark strands. Then he leans forward and presses kisses to her thighs. “You’re wet, sweetheart.”

“I know.” She murmurs, tugging on his hair and marveling at the low groan it inspires. “And don’t speak English to me. You know it burns my ears.”

“You love it,” he accuses as she starts to relax. “You love it, doll.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, her eyes still trained on his lips against her thigh. “Doll?”

He hums gently, making his way slowly toward her heat. “Mm. Do you like it? It’s an English pet name.”

“You never gave me one to call you.”

She doesn’t shave and he thinks he loves it. A few months ago Bucky had discovered the world of online porn and he been mostly shocked to see the hairless, thin bodies. Ana is lightly muscled and tall, with gently sloping curves, and apparently a pussy she didn’t shave. Her body seems almost familiar to him and the hair certainly doesn’t bother him. “You can use sweetheart or darling or baby or doll.” Bucky mutters between kisses to her hipbones and lower stomach.

For a moment it’s quiet again as her muscles coil and tighten the closer he comes to where she’s curious if he’ll actually put his mouth. “What do you want me to call you?”

“Call me whatever you like, _dorohyy_.” Bucky kisses her thigh again. “This okay? Tell me if you-,”

“I know.” Her voice is suddenly impatient.

He huffs out a small breath, lips twitching with a suppressed smile as he finally gives her a long lick. It’s been a long time for her and he knows she won’t last long, but she does keep her hands on his head, not controlling him per se but as a safety net. Ana could pull him away fairly easily, shove him away and regain control.

But she’s soon lost in ecstasy. It’s unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. It’s solely pleasure and not intrusive at all. Ana finds herself liking it, loving it, wanting more. His lips wrap around her clit as he sucks gently, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Bucky pulls away from her to check in. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says breathlessly as she pushes her legs over his shoulders. “I want you to keep going.”

His eyes are closed as he presses his forehead to her thigh. He brings his hand around and presses his thumb to her clit, rubbing long, slow circles there. “Will you come for me, Ana?”

She shivers deeply, “I want to.”

“Okay.” He puts his mouth back on her, gently trying to coax an orgasm out of her. Ana takes his hands in hers and brings them to her breasts, kneading his hands with hers over her chest.

A needy mewl escapes her right before Bucky drags his teeth over her. Her whole body goes stiff and she’s coming hard, pleasure coursing through her hotly. She had experienced orgasms before but none that she actually wanted and certainly none so intense.

Her vision whites out for a second as Bucky continues licking at her through the whole thing, prolonging it for as long as he could. When he pulls back his chin and lips are wet and Ana’s eyes are half-lidded in exhaustion. Guilt tugs at him. Maybe he should just leave her. Wrap her in a blanket and put her to bed.

Because this could very possibly go horribly wrong. And he doesn’t want to trigger Ana, inadvertently push her away from him, just to chase his own pleasure. He strokes her hip with his thumb. “Hey, _dorohyy,_ if you’re done then so am I. Okay? This can be it.”

She opens her eyes. “What nonsense are you on about now, Barnes? Performance anxiety?”

“What?” Genuine confusion strains his voice.

Ana points behind him and he turns to see the cats sitting on the counter behind him, both their heads tilted curiously to the side. “Oh my God.” He shakes his head, turns back to Ana, and nestles his head against her. “No, I just don’t want to-,”

He bites his tongue. “I just love you. I want you to be okay.”

“I’m okay. Although I want to know who taught you to do that with your mouth.” She pushes him away and gestures for him to sit down. “I want to. I want you to feel good. You deserve to feel good too.”

He’s worried they’ll both hate it. He had hated it with Vera. And if he did something wrong then Ana would hate it too. She takes his chin in her hand, “It’s going to be okay. I trust you.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and lets Ana help him out of his pants. She doesn’t stare, which he’s strangely worried about too, but then again he supposes his confidence isn’t at an all-time high, that it hadn’t been since before he was drafted. He rolls on a condom and lets her straddle him, hovering just above him.

And then he remembers.

“Before I forget, _dorohyy_.” He leans forward to grab a remote off the coffee table, clicking a button while looking into her eyes. She bursts out laughing when she hears the song that comes on.

“You absolute jackass.”

He tosses the remote away, reaching up to curl his fingers behind her ear. She’s flushed and breathless and perfect. “I met this crazy girl a while back. And I didn’t talk much but she did. And she didn’t seem to have so many boundaries. But she taught me languages and taught me about love and cats and what it means to be a family again. What it means to have a home and people. And she taught me about music and bargaining at markets and how to be kind and loving. She’s so lovely and kind even if she’s a little crazy and asks me to shoot people with a paintball gun. But she also told me that I was doing something wrong if I didn’t make love to someone to this song at least once in my life.”

She leans forward and presses her lips to his forehead. “So, I’m glad I get to share it with you,” he finishes, hand going to her hip as she starts to lower herself. He grips himself in his other hand, lets her sink down onto him as slowly as she likes as Foreigner’s _I Want To Know What Love Is_ plays in the background.  

“You’re crazy,” she murmurs when she’s fully seated. Something like a pleasant burn is between her thighs and she thinks everything is going to be okay. Ana pushes her arms around his neck, trembling slightly. “I think that girl tricked you into thinking she’s something she’s not.”

Ana starts to roll her hips against his. She feels so _fucking_ good around him. Tight and perfectly wet. “Doll, you're perfect,” he whispers in English, unable to help himself, even though he knows she hates it. “Please, sweetheart, I won’t last long.”

“Feel okay?”

“Fantastic.” He kisses her cheek. “You?”

“Uh huh,” she grunts, grinding her hips deeply against his. “Good.” A tear drips onto his shoulder. “Don’t you dare ever tell a soul I cried.” Fingers drag back through his hair. “Hold me.” He complies, wrapping his flesh arm around her. “Other one, _krasyvyy_.”

He puts that one around her too, helping her drag over his length agonizingly slowly. It reminds her, he knows, that it’s him, that she isn’t betraying herself. Being the only person that she knows with a metal arm evidently had its perks. “I won’t tell a soul, _dorohyy_.”

She tugs his head back again, “I love you.”

“I’m really close, Ana.”

Ana shivers. “Me too.”

“I love you.”

“Thanks.”

He chuckles as Ana leans down to rest her face against his neck. A few minutes later they come nearly at the same time. Ana feels good, she isn’t reminded of her past. And when Bucky takes her to her bedroom and curls around her, she feels small and safe and protected instead of fearful and tense. Bucky feels good too. Pain doesn’t curl up his spine as it did with Vera. He too feels safe and warm and protected and good.

Maybe love does make the difference.

 


	28. Soft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imreallysorrythistooksolongpleasedonthateme

When Bucky wakes up Ana is smoking. “I know,” she says when he rolls over. “Don’t ruin the moment. You have a tendency to do that.”

Bucky only rolls his eyes and drapes his arm over her waist, pressing his face into her neck tiredly. He had woken because he had lost contact with her. She pushes his face away with her free hand, and repositions him better, more against her chest, as she winds her arm behind his neck. “I wasn’t going to say anything about it, Ana. I wanted to ask how you’re feeling.”

A heavy blanket of silence settles around them as Ana smokes her cigarette down to the stub and contemplates his question. “I think I feel really good.” She drops her finished cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table.

“Mm,” he grunts. “Nothing bad?” Bucky’s worried. Worried that he had done something to make her associate him and sex with _them_ and what they had done to her. Really he had done his absolute best to be the opposite of that.

She shifts her hips a little. “Well, a little sore. But I think that’s normal. And it’s not such a bad sort of sore.” Ana moves down in bed until they’re level with each other. One hand comes up to stroke back his hair while the other tangles with his metal hand. “Stop worrying.”

Ana looks at him so softly, her whole heart on display.

He brings her hand up to his mouth, brushing his lips against her knuckles. “I’ll do my best.”

It’s quiet all of two seconds. “Bucky?”

“Hm?”

“You know how you always say, ‘Ana let’s stay in bed all day.’?”

Bucky wraps his arm around her back and pulls her closer. “Yeah. And then you inevitably have something to do at the last moment.”

She pushes her forehead against his. “I lied all those times I said I had something to do.”

“I know.”

“How did you know? I’m a master of deception.”

He kisses her top lip very gently, trying not to make her scuttle away from him. But if anything she seems to be completely wrapped around him today. He loves it. “You’re bad at lying sometimes. And you’d get really tense and keep your arms between us. And then you’d jump up and leave. Usually saying something ridiculous, like last minute dog walking responsibilities.”

“Am I getting predictable?” She wonders out loud.

“No,” he murmurs to her. “We just spend a lot of time together.”

Ana makes a disgusted face, “Oh God, we do. And I was _going_ to tell you that we can stay here, you ass. But _now_ I think I have something to do.” She starts to push him away. “Something about a dog and walking it, I think.”

He grips her hips lightly, “C’mon Ana. Don’t do that. Stay here with me, _dorohyy_.” Surprisingly, that’s all it takes to get her to settle back into his arms. She wants to be there and Bucky has a sneaking suspicion that that was Ana’s way of checking if _he_ wanted to be there as well. She’d settled far too easily for her to have really wanted to leave. They lie on their sides, tracing each other’s skin gently when he notices her eyes roving over his scarred shoulder.

“You can touch it.”

“Does it hurt?” She traces over a ridge of scar tissue hesitantly, fingers kneading the raised pink skin.  

Bucky shrugs, “Depends on the weather.” He watches her trace his scars for a while, fingertips just barely fleeting over his skin. There’s a gentleness in her eyes that rarely makes an appearance, something like open vulnerability being displayed. “It ached all the time for a while. Bringing me in and out of cryo really affected it.”

Her eyes lift to meet his as she slides her hands over his chest. “What was that like?”

“Horrible. Never knew what year it was, though I guess to The Winter Soldier it didn’t really matter all that much. But it hurt. It was a lot of pain. Coming out of cryo hurt. Making your limbs sort of move right again was a challenge. And then…y’know they always wanted something immediately. Sometimes it’d take a while to get your brain to work again too. To remember whatever it was they wanted to know.” He goes quiet for a moment and then murmurs, “And they didn’t really like that too much, when things took time.”

Silence settles then, but it’s a good sort of silence. Ana keeps tracing the scars littered along his shoulder, her forehead pressed against his collarbone. Evening is starting to fall and the rain hasn’t let up. The room is dim and warm and her fingers feel so good against his skin. She’s being so delicate with him at the moment, and somehow he feels small and protected. When her fingers start to drift she looks up and murmurs, “Can I? I’ll let you touch me later.”

“Mm.” He agrees. “You’d let me?”

“I trust you and you’re so soft with me that it’s strange. They pushed and pulled and yanked. And I just had to stand it, fight them every inch of the way.”

Ana presses on his shoulder until he rolls onto his back. She caresses each curve of muscle slowly, deliberately. His stomach clenches beneath her hands, his heart beats faster whenever her hands stray too close to his neck. “No?” She asks quietly, fingers keeping at his collarbone and no further, not straying upwards to the delicate skin of his neck.

“No.” He whispers, half expecting his requested to be refused.

He’s never seen her so gentle or truly calm. He’s never experienced her so mellow and quiet. “Will you tell me?”

“I think you already know.”

“Yes.” Ana settles for stroking her fingers over his collarbone and down his sternum. “I think you’re the most beautiful person alive.” She runs her hands over the light chest hair, affectionately brushing the tips of her fingers through it.

Bucky reaches over to cup her cheek gently. “Maybe you don’t know that much about beauty.” His thumb runs over her cheekbone. “And I know everything about it because I get to look at you.”

“Good God you sound mushy.”

“Why don’t you go to sleep?” He murmurs, pulling her in for a gentle kiss. “Just sleep and let me worry about beauty.”

Ana pulls herself closer and kisses his chin. “No. I’ll stay here but I’m going to make coffee.”

“You should eat something.”

She shakes her head and sits up. It isn’t modesty that makes her turn her naked back to him but he doesn’t mention it. It’s hard to be looked at sometimes. “You hate yourself don’t you?” Ana asks suddenly.

It isn’t a hard thing to admit. “Yeah.”

“Me too.”

“We shouldn’t.”

He thinks briefly about Ana hating herself and agrees. No, they shouldn’t hate themselves. At least…Ana shouldn’t hate herself, there’s nothing to hate about her. “Let’s go make some coffee,” he says by way of agreement. A brief smile flickers over her face. He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “C’mon, _dorohyy_. You know I never do it right.”

They yank on some clothes and walk to the kitchen together. While she makes the coffee Bucky stands behind her with his arm around her and murmurs in her ear. He tells her again that she should eat and not just drink coffee and smoke.

“I’ve gotten better about smoking,” she says, turning in his arms to meet his eyes.

He strokes back some of her hair, “Yes. You have. But you should eat.”

Her eyes water suddenly and she looks away from him. “I can’t. My friend just died. You’ll be there? You promised. I think you did anyways, and Katya gets really weepy and she’s ready to have a baby and what if I don’t realize she’s gone into labor? Then at least I don’t have to worry because I know you’ll be with her and-,”

Bucky presses his lips tentatively against hers. “I’ll be there.” A muscle in his jaw jumps, “I don’t trust that fucking Dalca anyways.”

“Did he say something vulgar? Shouldn’t you be used to that by now?”

“It was worse than vulgar.”

She doesn’t comment about that, only pours them each a cup of coffee and asks Bucky to step onto the balcony with her.

“Ana…” he says, light reprimand in his voice.

Before he can try and steal her pack of cigarettes, or the backup, or the _other_ hidden backup, Ana wraps her arms around him and pushes her hands beneath his sweater. Her nails drag along his low back. “But I think I deserve just one more. I’ll even share it with you.” Her head tilts to the side, “What is it you said I could call you? Baby? Won’t you smoke with me, baby?”

He smiles, and her fingers come up to trace his lips. Mesmerized by the smile he had kept hidden for so long. “Sure, _dorohyy_.”

And Bucky likes sharing cigarettes with her anyways, something about it functions as a bonding activity. He feels closer to her, certainly more intimate. The way her lips looked wrapped around the end, smoke coiling from her nostrils like a smug dragon.

He nods and they go out into the rainy night, safe from the wet under the overhang, and smoke together. Where before Ana tired of his touch or shied away from him after a while, now she stays close. She presses her back to his chest and encourages his arms around her. Ana raises her hand to his mouth and lets him take a drag before she smashes her lips to his. His fingers trace along her waist when her shirt rises up just a little. “ _Dorohyy_ ,” he murmurs against her mouth, smoke coiling around them. She kisses him harder, eyes clenched shut. It feels like there isn’t time left. She has to kiss him while she can, ruined for anyone else.

When the coffee is drained and their lips are swollen they go back inside and Ana keeps her promise. She stays in bed with him for the rest of the evening.

She stays soft and pliant to his touch, warm and cautiously tucked against him. “I think,” Ana says quietly against his bicep, where she had dipped her head to kiss. “This is my new home. I didn’t think of it as home before. I think I can finally come home.”

How quickly a home can be destroyed, but still she says it, because she means it. “Yeah,” he agrees, kissing the tip of her nose.

“Tomorrow is going to be bad. Very hard.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I know.” Her legs wrap around his waist, seemingly completely comfortable with him, completely _trusting_ , which makes all the difference. Ana’s affection is addictive, and he’s worried once they leave the warm safety of the apartment that she’ll go back to being prickly. And Bucky really doesn’t want that. He wants her warmth and softness. He wants this to last forever.

But it won’t.

It can’t.

And so when they make love again, slowly and passionately, he tries his best to ingrain each moment to his memory. He tries to make it last. He tries not to think about Dalca and he tries not to think about how everything is changing.

He watches her chest heave, the muscles in her arms twist as she rides him. It’s slow and careful but easier than before, she isn’t as stiff and tense. When he raises his hips to meet hers, there’s hardly a pause as her eyes flick open to meet his, yellow as a cat’s and strikingly alert. “Will you look at me?” He asks, hands traveling quickly over her body. “Let me see your eyes, _dorohyy_.”

Ana nods, having no quick words for once, defenses completely down. With his metal hand he squeezes the soft flesh of her breast as the other rubs tight circles over her clit. She comes hard, body quivering around him as she collapses onto his chest. She pants against him and then she cries again, cursing him and giving another directive not to tell anyone.

Bucky wraps his arms around her and nods. He understands her tears. When you’re conditioned to pain, something so good seemed like a miracle.

 

~

 

“A good woman’s funeral?” Asks an agent with a small laugh. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Ana,” Bucky hisses at her again. “Go home.” It isn’t really an option anymore but he’s desperate for her not to be hurt. He’s desperate for Ana to be safe.

Katya grips Ana’s arm tightly and whispers something in her ear. “And,” Ana says a little distractedly, “They’re already here.”

Just then a junior agent marches through a door at the other end of the room, looking very much like he wanted to be anywhere else. Everyone turns to look at him. “Er, sir, there are some… _people_ here. They claim be needed here?” The poor boy seems incredibly confused. “They’ve just come from a funeral.”

Ana looks smug as Fre suddenly appears next to her, a few people gasping, having apparently tired of being invisible. “That would be the funeral I mentioned.”

Steve Rogers in particular looks impressed while everyone else seems confused. “How did you know where-,”

People are marched through the door, all speaking at the same time, different languages, different volumes. It’s completely absurd but it’s Ana and somehow the spectacle makes sense. Dalca is leading the charge who is flagged down by one of the agents. Dalca waves them away and makes his way to Ana. “I’m here to make my peace with you and the muscle.”

“You gave us up.”

He winks, “But I’m getting you back.” Dalca’s eyes drift to Katya. “I believe your friend has gone into labor.”

Ana doesn't acknowledge the second part of his statement and simply says, "Those KGB connections coming in handy I see."

Dalca only grunts in response, giving away nothing.

Bucky hates the sound of Russian on their lips. He hates what’s happening around him and that he has no control over it. The agents are distracted having been overrun with the funeral procession. “Ana, please look at me,” he whispers now, in Ukrainian, just for her.

“You have a terrible accent,” she says as she turns. “And you owe me for all the damage done to that damn apartment.”

“You have to stop this.”

“I’m getting you out of this. You didn’t do anything. You were with me.”

Dalca is now conversing with some agents in broken English, explaining something he can’t hear. “Ana…”

There’s much confusion after that. They’re pulled apart from each other, Dalca declares himself Bucky’s lawyer, Katya and Fre are rushed to a hospital because the contractions are getting quite bad. The agents are forced to talk to the people lugged in, take statements, and evaluate them.

It all happens very quickly.

Ana is speaking lowly to Steve and what appears to be Tony Stark. Ana also refuses to look back over at him.

It looked like things might be okay despite the chaos. When she does finally meet his gaze it’s with sadness in her eyes. It might be okay but it also might be the end.


	29. Piano

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Let me know what you think <3

Two weeks after the funeral, two weeks after being captured, Bucky is approved to be taken to the United States.

For evaluation. For treatment. For the government to sort out his crimes. For someone to decide what should be done with him. He stays silent and passive through the whole procedure. The courtroom is small. He only has Dalca next to him, who turned out to be a perfectly legal lawyer, and a good one despite all of his other shortcomings. On the benches behind him sits Steve and Fre and Ana and a few other Avengers whose names he can’t be bothered to remember. On the other side of the room sits two representing agents, who look very pissed off by the way things are going. The judge tells him he’s going back to America, the gavel smacks down, and that’s the end of it. Relief floods him and for just a moment he manages to feel safe.

He stands as does Dalca who rolls his eyes. “Goodbye, Winter Soldier.” When he turns and walks away Bucky sees the sword strapped to his back and has to quirk his lips in a small smile. He hates the man but he’s nothing if not consistent and persistent.

Bucky turns and ignores Steve, ignores everyone, and goes to Ana. “ _Dorohyy_ ,” he whispers, meeting her in the center of the room, the middle of the courtroom aisle. She wraps her arms around him, his face nestled against her shoulder. She sniffles hard. “Thank you. Thank you for saving my life, in so many ways. Even if it was stupid,” he whispers, glad that this was finally _over_.

“Mm.” Her voice cracks, “Well what was I supposed to do? Let you take care of it yourself? I saw the fucking mess you made of the apartment.” She lets a few more tears fall, “I’m sorry it has to end this way.”

Ice spreads over his heart. “End?” Ana is terrified of their separation, just as he is, and now they had the chance to go somewhere safe together and she’s calling it the end? He remembers a conversation they once had, when they had first gotten together. He remembers her fear that he would one day go back to America, and he knows she’s never intended on going to the States. She had been afraid because it was somewhere she didn’t want to go.

“You’re going back to America,” she says carefully and he knows he has it right.

Bucky still tries. “And you’re coming with me.”

She steps back, “No. I belong here.” When he doesn’t respond she says, “And you belong with your friend. For a while…this might have looked like it was about something else. But it’s always been about me and you. It’s always been our story, with some other stuff going on. Little bit of intrigue and all that.” He frowns at her. “But now it’s meant to be over. We’re meant to be over.”

It can’t be happening. It can’t end this way. They were finally together. Not two weeks ago they had made love. Not two weeks ago everything had been seemingly perfect. They had finally found their home in each other, both of them, and now she’s saying no? He can’t breathe. They hadn’t been given enough time together.

“Ana…please don’t do this. I can’t do this without you. I don’t want to do this without you. I don’t want to be without you.” Ana, he thinks, is trying to save herself heartbreak. But heartbreak from what he can’t say.  

She bites her lip and steps back from him. Fre is looking at the ground. He knew then, he had known. But of course he had known, Ana told him everything. “Bucky…I did my part. I made sure you stayed free. Now you do your part and let _me_ stay that way.”

And Bucky can see it in her eyes. If he coerces her into coming with him to America, she’ll never forgive him, and nothing would be the same between them.

“Soldier,” someone calls from the door. It’s time for him to go. Their spectacle for those left in the room being shut down.

“I don’t want to let you go.”

She bites her lip again and looks away, fear and sadness travels across her face, “Then you don’t know me at all.” His heart plummets and shatters. “I love you, _krasyvyy_. But our time is up.” Ana steps forward again and takes his face between her palms. She places a tiny kiss against his nose and then his forehead before she finally kisses his lips a final time. “I have work to do here. You know I do. And now you have work too, but it isn’t here, it isn’t with me.” A tear tracks down her cheek. Her breathing is uneven.

Bucky catches at her sleeve but she and Fre are already halfway gone. She doesn’t even look back. Dalca appears out of the shadows and says something to her. Right before the door closes he sees her pass Dalca a wad of something.

He doesn’t get to say goodbye to Katya or Fre and Ana’s hadn’t been a proper goodbye.

Something like devastation brings him to his knees.

 

~

 

Four months pass without a single word from Ana. When someone is sent to check her apartment everything is gone, like she had never been there at all. She and Fre and the cats are in the wind. Kaya, he assumes, has been placed somewhere safe with her baby.

Bucky is essentially interned in the Avenger’s compound in upstate New York. He hates it here. It’s nothing like Bucharest. It’s nothing like their tiny apartment. It’s nothing like the close community he’s come to know. It’s sleek and modern, and sure it’s nice, but it isn’t the apartment. It isn’t close quarters and worn wooden floors and soft blankets. And there’s a voice in the ceiling here that fucking _talks_ to him. And really that makes him feel more like an inmate than anything.

He hates being examined and question and watched.

The feeling of eyes always on him is the worst of the situation.

Besides, that is, from his bleeding, ragged heart. He thinks about Ana every second of every day. He thinks about her when he’s taking to the therapist. He thinks about her when he’s talking to Steve or running or listening to someone talk about how to get the trigger words out of his head (because that had been a big fucking surprise, the fact that they foiled a plan to turn the Avengers against each other using Bucky, completely by accident). He thinks about her when he tries to sleep. He thinks about her always. Ana is never far from Bucky’s mind and he wonders if she even remembers him at all.

He feels forgotten again. He doesn’t just feel forgotten, he feels _forgettable_ , like it never mattered.

His whole time in Bucharest feels a bit like a long, wonderful dream. His reality now feels cold and foreign and empty. 

The ache in his chest is never going away, he knows that now.

Everything seems hopeless. He misses the cats and Katya. He misses Fre and the smell of cigarette smoke. He misses the good-natured arguing and the singing and Ana’s oddness. He hates the fact that he took so long and that they had only had a tiny amount of time together. Bucky had convinced himself that it could last forever, and forever had been ripped away from him.

He never got to find out what Katya had named her baby. And that seemed unfair considering he had been the pretend father for so many appointments.

The time he spent in Bucharest has started to take on a dreamlike quality, considering the things that had went on.

The only woman he’s ever loved has slipped away from him. Or rather, she’s pulled away from him, and is probably throwing herself off buildings and fighting people she has no business fighting, making someone else’s fight her own.

Steve worries about him and all he manages to do is mope. He wonders if she’s found another apartment somewhere and rented another one to someone else. Bucky wonders if she’ll become their friend too. He wonders if she’ll break their hearts too. _She’s a runner_ , whispers Dalca in the back of his mind. And Bucky thinks maybe he’s been a little naïve this whole time. Maybe she never meant for things to go as far as they did.

Maybe she would be able to fall in love with someone else, someone better, now that her heart was open. He knows there’ll never be another person for him.

So, four months after he lost Ana, he’s walking aimlessly around the compound, trying desperately to avoid Sam and Steve and Tony and _everyone_ when he stumbles upon a music room.

Pepper Potts is inside straightening a painting on the wall. She turns and smiles. “Hi, Bucky.”

“Hello Pepper,” he says, gazing around the room. There are paintings filling every wall and instruments all around the room. Bookshelves and plush couches sit in one corner. But in the center of the room is a piano. It’s a little worn but well taken care of, and clearly very special. “Is this your doing?”

“Yes. Little known fact, I love music. Tony made up the room as a very expensive gift.” But she’s smiling. She looks happy.

Bucky nods and moves closer to the piano. “It’s beautiful.” He runs one flesh finger over the wood.

Pepper tilts her head to one side. “You’ve been here for months now and this is the first time you’ve spoken to me.” Her lips twist into a kind smile. “It must be the music. Do you play?”

He walks around the piano and sits at the bench. “No. Ana did. She taught me a lot about music.” Or, more like, Ana taught him what music meant to _her_ , sharing pieces of her soul with him even when he hadn’t realized or appreciated it.

She makes a sympathetic noise and moves closer, heels clicking along the floor. “I bought this from a dealer in Eastern Europe actually. It belonged to a Ukrainian family at one point, who abandoned it after the revolution. Look, you can see where the children carved their names. It’s a one of a kind piece, this wood is extremely rare…”

Pepper’s voice fades into the background as he slowly leans down to look at the names. It was too big of a coincidence wasn’t it? That Ana’s piano should end up here? But it was from Eastern Europe and belonged to a Ukrainian family. And then he remembers that night with Ana. He had come home from seeing Vera and stayed in her bed. And she had come home that same night after having been in the Ukraine seeing her family’s old house. _“I went to the door to ask after my father’s piano. But it’s gone the mother told me. Sold somewhere half-ways around the world to a collector named Potts. It was an antique but it was ours.”_ She had said to him that night.

And sure enough when he’s eye level with the piano leg her name is there. Анастасія. _Anastasya._ And next to that, her sister’s name, more sloppily carved. Саша. _Sasha._

“Pepper,” he whispers. “This is hers. This is Ana’s.”

He jerks up to look at the woman who is staring at him open mouthed, having been interrupted mid-sentence. “Oh, my God.” She says. “Are you sure?”

He nods. “I need to speak with her.”

 

~

 

It takes about three days to track Ana down who is apparently living in Jordan with Fre. Though it’s hard to tell what exactly they’re doing there. Finally though, they get her on the phone. He thinks maybe she wants to be found, contacted, or it would have taken longer than three days to find her.

Every one of the Avengers are in the room when it happens and he nervously presses the phone to his ear. They had helped and so he can’t tell them to leave. But he speaks in a mix of Ukrainian and Romanian and hopes no one understands him.

“ _Dorohyy_?”

It’s silent. The line crackles. “Bucky?”

He breathes a sigh of relief, his heartbeat slows and evens for the first time in months. “Hey.”

“Good lord you sound awful. Are you calling to tell me you’ve found yourself a nice girl and you’re settling down? I won’t come to _that_ wedding. I’m sure it’ll be a train wreck and I’m a little bit offended that you’d try to invite me. I still have that paintball gun you know, and I-,”

He chuckles weakly. Something in his heart stirs though. She only chatters like this when it’s something she’s genuinely worried about. And apparently she thought that Bucky could have both moved on and found someone new in such a short time. “I’ve missed you, but could you stop?” And of course it’s Ana and so it only turns into a long rant about why she _won’t_ stop. “Please, Ana?” He asks after a while. “ _Dorohyy_ , I miss you. There’s no new girl. I only think about you, doll.”

“Sorry.”

“I miss you,” he tries again. “And there’s something here I think you should see. It’s important or I wouldn’t ask you. I wanted to know if you’d come for a visit? If you’ll come see me?”

She’s silent for a long time but he waits. Bucky realizes with a small start that he’d sit on this damn phone indefinitely waiting for her to answer him. Their conversations were usually punctuated by long silences but he could usually see her face and he so wishes he could now. “Are you going to make me stay if I come to you?”

Bucky shakes his head and feels the tension drain from his shoulders. “No. You know I’d never make you do anything. I don’t want you to come, or stay, if you don’t want to.”

“I miss you too,” she says by way of an answer, her voice suddenly immensely tender. “I want to see you. What if I swing by Germany and pick up Katty and the baby? You never got to see the baby. She’s so cute, Bucky. She’s so small and blonde. Best of all she’s healthy. Fre met this Palestinian girl living here in Jordan and she’s so great-,”

“You’ll all come?” He asks in surprise, cutting Ana off.

Ana sighs heavily, “We’re a family, baby. Of course we will.”

He chuckles when she calls him baby, knows she’s doing it to tease him. “I love you. I’ll see you soon. I hope I’ll see you soon.”

“Bucky, wait!” She must have thought he meant to hang up, that he’d tired of her excited rambling already.

“I’m here. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Her voice shakes when she says, “I just want to talk to you a while longer. I’ve missed your voice. You know Fre sounds like an old man so he’s not that great to listen to. And you…you have such a nice voice, _way_ better than Tom Petty. Smooth and deep but rough sometimes. I like it best like that. A little bit of a catch in your voice, like when you first wake up. Have you ever thought about singing?” Bucky doesn’t ask who Tom Petty is. He figures he’ll ask when she arrives. He blushes as she keeps talking about his voice. But he knows she’s rambling now because she’s afraid he’ll hang up. And this is her way of getting him to stay on the phone. “It’s especially nice because your voice says things like ‘I love you, Ana’ and means it.”

There’s a long pause and Bucky chuckles at her not so subtle attempt to cajole him into saying the words again. He really doesn’t need to be coaxed. “Ya lyublyu tebe, Ana.”

“Charmer,” she accuses. “Always using my language against me. Will you stay on with me a while longer?”

He gives a grunt of consent as the people in the room with him start to file out. Pepper pats his shoulder gently on her way past. She had been instrumental in convincing Tony to help track Ana down, and now seemed to have a soft spot for him. “When could you come?”

“Soon. I don’t like being away from you. Anytime I stayed away from you before I knew I could come back to the apartment and you’d be there.” She sniffles lightly, “And Jax has been an absolute menace. He yowls all the time he misses you so much. And so does Puff but she’s better about hiding it. The little bastard doesn’t much like Jordan either.”

Bucky laughs lightly, “Do _you_ like Jordan?”

“Well, we went to South Africa first, figured we needed a break. Fre hated it there but I thought it was alright. Jordan is nice. Very pretty. I wish you could see the market here. You would love it.” She pauses for a moment before she continues thickly, “But you aren’t here. You aren’t here to tell me to stop smoking. You aren’t here to patch me up. You aren’t here to curl around at night, or kiss when I’m scared.” She sighs, “And we don’t have a _balcony_. All we have is this _window_ - _,_ ” there’s a heavy amount of disgust in her voice when speaking about the window, “-that you can sit in but it isn’t the same. Of course we couldn’t smuggle the dogs away either and so I had to pay those damn twins to take care of them. Nothing’s the same.”

For a long time there’s silence through the phone as Ana tries to catch her breath. Bucky makes soft noises to bring her away from the looming panic attack. “How is America?” She asks thickly.

“Not the same,” Bucky whispers and she laughs.

“I’ll be there soon and I’ll make this up to you.”

“But you won’t stay?”

“You won’t stay with me either.” Her voice is defensive and so he drops it before they can fight.

He picks at a thread in his sweater and clutches the phone hard in his hand. “Maybe we’ll figure something out.”

“Maybe. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Bye, baby.”

He laughs again, “Bye, _dorohyy_.”

Bucky hangs up and stares at the phone in his hand for a long time, a small smile on his face. From the doorway he hears Steve tell Sam, “He hasn’t smiled like that since he got here.”

And for once Sam doesn’t say something to poke fun at him, “His girl is coming to him. She loves him. ‘Course he’s smiling.”

He smiles wider. He can’t wait to show Ana her piano.

 


	30. Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This is the last chapter. Although I may do an epilogue. 
> 
> This story is my favorite thing that I've written and I just wanted to say thanks for coming along for the ride. ❤️❤️

Ana arranges things quickly and by the end of the day that they had their phone call, she’s already confirmed with Tony when she’d be arriving.

They’re scheduled to arrive in three days and soon the story of the piano has spread throughout the Compound. Which just means Bucky fiercely guards the room like a vengeful spirit, helped by Pepper Potts when she’s available.

And so the next three days pass by agonizingly slowly. There’s nothing anyone can do or say to make Bucky relax. He can’t sit still and no matter how many times Steve tells him to stop pacing he can’t make himself.

Is he happy to be back with his best friend? Yeah. Of course. He loves Steve.

But _Ana_ is coming to him. And somehow Steve manages to understand, and he’s happy because Bucky is happy. He has his best friend back, mostly intact, and he’s _happy_.

So when the black SUV pulls up Bucky is the first one out of the Compound and down to the drive in front of the building, Steve right behind him. It’s a warm fall day, the leaves of the trees starting to color. Stark had offered to send a car to pick them up but Ana had adamantly refused. And Bucky hadn’t been all that surprised. She’s in a new country, meeting new and frightening people with the only people left in the world that she considered her family. And so she controlled what she could.

The driver’s door pops open and a black, laced up boot appears, plopping down onto the pavement before the rest of the body follows. Ana’s hair is tied back in a long ponytail, her wide hazel eyes searching for and landing on Bucky. Other people are crowding out the Compound door behind him but he seems to be frozen, still and hardened. Her jeans are ripped and her simple black t-shirt hugs her body. And in typical Ana fashion she’s covered in various injuries.

Steve shoves at Bucky’s back a little, trying to get him to move forward. But Steve doesn’t know Ana and so he doesn’t know that this isn’t Bucky’s moment but hers.

She tips forward onto her toes and bounces lightly. She smiles and glances around. “Boy,” she says in English, “I really should get a license. This country seems like it might be particular about laws.”

That’s when he moves, swarming forward to wrap his arms around her tightly. She squeezes him back and presses her face to his shoulder. “I’m crying a little, don’t let me go.”

“No. Never.” He says back, feeling her body shake against his.

Fre emerges from the car next, surveying the scene with interest. Ana pulls back from Bucky and holds him at arm’s length, examining him. “Are you okay? You look thinner.”

“I’m fine.”

"Sure? Does someone feed you?" She glances around at the people gathered there as Fre joins them.

Nonchalantly, as though it means nothing, Fre holds out a pack of cigarettes. “All the way from Jordan.” Bucky takes them and shakes Fre’s hand. “We missed you.”

Ana hasn’t let go of him, she stands to the side now with her fingers through one of his belt loops. She tugs on him, “You should help with the baby and I’ll say hello to the spectators.” And sure enough he’s shoved toward the back of the SUV as Ana turns and starts greeting the others, some of whom she’s met before. Her English is perfect, even with the flare of a slight twang. He notices she greets Steve first.

Bucky pulls open the back door and ducks his head. He’s greeted with an exhausted looking Katya and a tiny baby. The baby is nearest to him, her small head covered in small blonde tufts of fluff. Her skin is very pale, like Katya’s, her cheeks pink and chubby. “She’s beautiful, Katty.”

“I think she takes after you.”

“Well,” he says gravely. “I am the father.”

She smiles, “You _are_.”

In awe he reaches out with his flesh hand and caresses one of her round cheeks with his thumb. She stirs a little, tiny pink tongue darting out as she yawns. “What did you name her, Katya?” Her eyes blink open to reveal a bright green. Whoever the father was, the baby has his eyes.

“Guess.”

There are few people important enough to Katya to name her baby after so he says, “Ana?  Did you name her Ana?”

“Close!”

“Sasha?” She just smiles. “Sasha? Sasha.” He looks back down at the baby. “It’s a beautiful name.”

“Well,” she says, opening the car door. “Ana thought that ‘Ana James’ was a little on the nose and I think Sasha is a good person to be named after. Plus Ana says Ana James is a famous opera singer and that we don’t want the baby named after an opera singer.”

“James?” He asks, shocked. But Katya is already out of the car.

Glancing back down at the child he smiles and unhooks her car seat, lifting her carrier away. Ana is in a heated debate with Stark and Fre is attempting to talk to Natasha. Katya comes around the car and loops her arm through his. “James. I think you are a good person to be named after too.”

Tears prick at his eyes and he blinks them furiously away. “Thanks.” People are looking at them now, at Katya and him and the baby’s carrier.

Katya’s English isn’t fantastic but she still goes about greeting people. Bucky lifts baby’s car seat to watch her curious eyes rove around. “You’re a cutie aren’t you?” He reaches out with his hand to touch her cheek again. “Lovely baby.” He already loves her a lot. He'd already do anything for this child.

Sasha opens and closes her little mouth, a tiny grin on her face. “She’s adorable,” Steve says having crept up on Bucky, “But c’mon. We’re going inside.” Everyone, including Ana, is filing inside, chattering with each other. He looks after her longingly as Steve chuckles. “She’s just being friendly.”

“I know,” he says, walking toward the door. "That's what Ana does."

During the course of dinner, which Stark went a little overboard with and is more of a feast, Bucky watches over the baby while the others eat and relax and talk. He likes taking care of Sasha. She's small and innocent and pure. Katya talks of Germany with a fondness in her voice, Ana and Natasha translating when her English failed. Fre and Ana, of course, have wild tales about living in Jordan and their sketchy work there. Sketchy as it always was. 

Ana seems to be the center of attention, and happy. When she meets his eyes she winks and smiles widely. They seem in no mood to stop talking anytime soon and Bucky can’t say that he minds, because they look whole and loved and good. 

Eventually, when she starts to fuss, Bucky takes the baby to what will be Katya’s room while she’s staying there, putting the child into her crib. He hums softly, hand smoothing circles on her belly until she drifts off to sleep.

“Bucky?”

He turns. Ana stands in the doorway, smile on her face. “I think being in Jordan and away from you has made me a worse smoker. It’s absolutely horrific. Your friend Steve came outside with me just now and he's absolutely appalled.”

“Well,” he starts. “You’re here now. I’ll help you quit. Although I imagine Steve was shocked.” He smiles as she comes closer and peers into the bassinet at the sleeping baby.

“She likes you a lot. I held her on the plane from Munich and let me tell you she was not happy about it. Neither was Fre when she threw up on him but-,” Bucky can’t take it any longer, her standing there and chattering as though they had seen each other yesterday, and so he grabs her and presses his lips to hers. 

He kisses her for a long time, lovingly, longingly. Bucky’s hands come up to cradle her head gently as Ana wraps her fingers around his wrists. “I missed you, Ana. I’m lost without you,” he murmurs when he pulls back and leans his forehead against hers.

“If you missed me,” she says, “You’d let me finish my story. Because I've never seen more harried airport employees.”

Bucky presses his flesh hand inside her shirt, rests it against her back. “Finish your story, _dorohyy_.”

And so she does and Bucky listens as he guides her out of the baby’s room and along a corridor, pointing out various rooms to her. She scolds him for interrupting her monologue about airport employees and their various unfortunate qualities when faced with a screaming baby and an angry man. “But,” she says at the end, “all the travel anger in the world is worth it to see you. But you said on the phone that you had something to show me. And the suspense has nearly killed me.”

“I do.” He tugs on her hand, “It’s not far now.” In the center of his tender heart is hope. Hope that maybe the piano might make Ana stay with him. He doesn’t want them to be separated again. But he also knows her and that if she didn’t want to be persuaded she wouldn’t be.

She’s also impatient at times. “Would you just tell me?” Ana says as he stops outside of the music room. She’s vibrating with nervous tension. “You dragged me halfway around the world just so you could show off the billionaire’s lair you’re living in, didn’t you?”

Her grin is starting to falter. “Jamie?” Ana’s voice goes strangely soft. There’s suddenly a worry niggling at the back of his mind. Maybe Ana would hate it. He doesn’t know, after all, why she had went to see the piano in the Ukraine. “Stop psyching yourself out and show me,” her voice is still soft. She cups his cheek, "Please?"

Steeling himself he opens the door slowly with one hand, taking her hand with the other, praying that he hadn’t made Ana fly around the world only to drive her away by reminding her of something she might rather forget.

Ana doesn’t move when the door is finally open. Her feet are solidly against the ground, eyes wide. Bucky’s afraid for a second that she won’t move.

Suddenly she lurches forward, ripping her hand from his, over the threshold and toward the piano. She stops and stares again as Bucky trails behind her. Ana whirls suddenly and slaps his chest. It doesn’t hurt, doesn’t even sting, but he’s more than a little shocked. “If you went hunting for this and took it away from its home just to-,”

She looks ready to claw his eyes out, scream and rip and tear, and so he hurriedly says, “No! Ana, no, look, it was just here. Pepper bought it. Pepper found it and gave it a home here. It’s been in the US for a few years. I didn't take it away from someone just to get you to come here.”

Tears fill her eyes as she turns back to the piano. She reaches out to it but pauses before her flesh can come in contact with it. “This is it's home now?" And then, voice cracking, "Potts?”

“That’s right.”

“She saved it?”

“Yes. She tells me they were going to scrap it. Didn’t realize how special it is.”

“You mean how expensive.”

“That too.” Bucky reaches forward and takes her hand, Ana’s back to his chest, and presses it against the old, rare wood. She shudders and closes her eyes.

Silence closes in around them, it’s warm and good and before Bucky can stop her she’s spun around again and pressed her arms around him, hugging him as hard as she can. “This doesn’t mean I’ll stay.”

“I know.”

“My name is on that piano. And Sasha’s.”

Bucky chuckles, “How do you think I knew it was yours?”

“My dad was so mad when he saw we’d done that.” She pulls back and looks into his eyes, hands cupping his cheeks, “But then my mother calmed him and he laughed and said it was okay. Because the piano was meant to be ours someday.” She glances at it, “And here I thought it was lost forever.”

Ana had thought a lot of things were lost forever. Her innocence, her family, her purpose and value, her piano. She looks at Bucky again, tall and handsome and blue-eyed and broken and everything good. “Play something for me?” He asks, not looking away from her pretty hazel eyes.

“I’ll even sing for you,” she whispers, leaning forward to peck him on the lips. Her fingers land against the wood again as she walks around the instrument. Ana makes a show of sitting at the bench and cracking her knuckles before pushing back the encasement hiding the keys. But Bucky watches the way her fingers tremble as she presses down on a few of the keys, wincing at some of the harsher notes the keys produce.

She meets his eyes and begins to play. “Recognize this song?”

“I thought you were going to sing?”

“It’s the intro!” She clears her throat and then begins to sing in her terrible false singing voice. Bucky laughs a little as he recognizes the song.

“And you’ve always said I was a little shit,” he murmurs as she continues singing badly.

_It's never over and yesterday's just a memory,  
Yesterday's just a memory._

_And I don't want to live without you anymore._  
_Can't you see I'm in misery?_  
 _And you know for sure_  
 _I would live and die for you_  
 _And I'd know just what to do when you call me baby._

“Name it!” She says.

“ _High Enough."_

She keeps going, giving a loving rendition to the song, happily singing it. When she finishes with a flourish there’s applause from the door but Ana doesn’t even look over. Her eyes find his and hold his gaze, “I don’t want to live without you anymore.” She repeats the lyrics of the song at him. "I really don't, Bucky."

Katya bounces by him, settling next to Ana on the piano bench, as Ana reaches for him. He bends down as she presses her hands to either side of his face and kisses him deeply. “We’ll make it work, I promise.”

“I’d choose you.”

“But you don’t have to.”

Katya is asking Ana to teach her a few chords and so she turns away and plays a few notes with one hand. Ana keeps her other hand twinned with his. Fre strolls into the room then too with Sasha cradled in his arms as he talks to her in Arabic. Bucky think that Sasha will be a truly multilingual child if they all stick together.

The team welcomes themselves in then.

It feels whole.

Bucky hopes against hope that Ana will stay.

He kisses her in front of everyone and she doesn’t push him away. Whether he follows her or she stays with him or they meet somewhere in the middle, he knows they’ll never be far from each other.

He kisses her again and again and again. And miraculously, Ana lets him. She never pulls away, she never shies from him.

Maybe every bad thing in their lives have been worth it, if it lead to this.


End file.
